Detente
by Eidolon Tree
Summary: (Part III, Schwarz Trilogy) Schuldig and Crawford lead a live well within their own norms -- violence, sex, and arguments. Years of arguing over value and love must be settled, a conclusion must be reached.
1. Default Chapter

**Détente: Chapter One: Business As Usual**   


So this is rest. The silence of their house, the ache of their bodies as they trudged in. A job well done, and they were exhausted. So they walked into their shared bedroom, too tired for conversation. Too tired for much of anything. Schuldich removed all his clothes and laid down on the bed, ready to fall asleep. It was a long damn day. At least he had some twelve hours until he had to go out and work again. 

"You coming to bed?" he didn't open his eyes. 

"No. I have some work to do. I'll come to bed in two hours when I'm done." 

Schuldich let out a heavy sigh, "Ah, work work work." He smiled, "You're having a love affair with your desk." Schuldich felt the bed sag towards the edge, as Crawford sat down. Schuldich felt a hand grasp his left arm, felt Crawford's lips brush up against his scar. Crawford had taken to kissing it, as a form of foreplay. 

"After that," Crawford's low, soothing voice, "I'll come to bed and make love to you." 

Schuldich opened his eyes. Crawford was leaning over him still, a pure calm exterior, nothing of passion yet. Crawford stroked his cheek lightly, affectionately. 

"You shouldn't be allowed to use that phrase." Schuldich closed his eyes again, letting sleep take him over. "'Make love' - that's just so wrong for you to say." He sighed again, started to doze off. "Night." 

Crawford took off his work shirt and tossed it casually on the floor. He'd pick it up four hours and twenty-eight minutes later. He untied his dress shoes and placed them under a chair next to his dresser so that he wouldn't trip on them four hours and twenty-six minutes into the future. He removed his socks and tossed them at the hamper, they landed next to yesterday's clothes, which smelt like gunfire. He walked into his office and casually picked up a cardboard tube, which had been delivered the afternoon previous. There was no return address. He pulled on a cardboard tag casually, broke the seal and took off the cap, tossed it into the trash. He pulled out building schematics, and slid one underneath a clear piece of plastic. From out of his desk drawer he withdrew six colored dry erase markers. 

Red was Schuldich. Black was Nagi. Green was Farfarello. Blue was himself. The other markers were yellow, orange, and purple. With the black marker, he X-ed out all of the exits except for one. Nagi would make sure that this specific exit was the only functional one before they moved in. Then he stopped and considered the rest of the layout. 

Schuldich worked best on the inside, and Crawford preferred to keep him close, to act as a relay between the four of them. Farfarello was best working ground floors, or outside. Nagi was his favorite for rooftops, normally, but since there was computer work involved this time, Nagi's station was obvious. 

The objective was pretty simple. Go in, make sure their human mark was dead, along with witnesses. Pull specific files pertaining to a specific project, obliterate the office and step out. 

Standard workfare, standard wage -- it shouldn't take long, fifteen, maybe twenty minutes tops. 

He changed and compared schematics. Standard work building, safety exits on every floor, easily accessible to employees. Japan was a safe place to work. 

Crawford wove the fingers from his left and right hand together and rested his chin on them. He looked down at the building schematic and let out a contemplative sigh. Crawford was, in fact, exhausted. As such, he was aware that his thought process was hindered. But he preferred to have his plans finished before he went to bed, so that he could proof them when he woke with a clearer mind. 

He raised his eyes, and looked through the open door to their shared bedroom. Schuldich was fast asleep, and had already kicked the covers off. Crawford looked at the time. One hour and fifteen minutes into the future, he would walk to the bed, and wake up Schuldich so that they could have sex. He made no move to alter this future, he saw it as quite agreeable. 

He stood up, and walked to the bedroom, sat down on the bed and ran a hand over Schuldich's hair. Schuldich woke up a little, opened his eyes and smiled. "Two hours already?" 

"No." 

"Ah, altering the future for little old me, I'm touched." And Schuldich drew near, nuzzled Crawford's throat and started to kiss. "Still tired though..." He sighed heavily, "but you like it when I'm still tired, huh? You like it slow..." 

"I didn't mean to wake you up." He rested a hand on the nape of Schuldich's neck. "Go back to sleep." He brushed his fingers lightly through Schuldich's hair, and held him close. "I just need to think." 

"Okay..." It didn't take long for Schuldich to fall back asleep. 

They'd enter the building first, and then he'd have Nagi seal all the exits but one. They would leave Farfarello at this exit to take care of anyone trying to escape. After the exits are sealed, Nagi will move to the computer room and start the hack. Nagi averaged five minutes hack per system. Nagi had been studying their security module for the past two weeks in preparation for the event, and expressed confidence in his ability to get in. Nagi claimed three minutes, but Crawford took into account boot up time as well as unexpected events, so in his opinion it would take more along the lines of five to eight minutes to get all the information he needed before he destroyed the system. Schuldich and Crawford would go after their mark. Crawford will probably be the one to pull off the actual hit, and Schuldich will run relay as usual between them all as well as act his usual post as Crawford's bodyguard, should the need arise. 

He checked the future briefly, to get an idea of what was going to happen. Weiss will be there, that adds an additional ten minutes to the job. Shouldn't be much of a problem. 

One hour and fifty-six minutes after Crawford said he'd come back to bed to make love to Schuldich, Crawford pushed Schuldich off of him and walked to his office. He made several shorthand notes with the dry erase markers, making sure to keep within the color code. He'd proof them later. He walked back into the bedroom and sat on the bed two hours to the minute he said he would return, removed his slacks, and tossed them next to his dress shirt. 

He drew the covers back on as he laid down next to Schuldich, stroked his shoulder. Schuldich woke up and smiled sleepily. "Two hours?" 

"Two hours." 

Schuldich showed his teeth but kept his eyes closed, "You promise?"   
  
  


He woke up, and Schuldich was laying against him. He enjoyed this, the feel of a warm body close. He'd gotten used to it. There were times, when he was almost sure that he could think better when Schuldich was close - because was more relaxed, and more able to focus on the task at hand. The ease that comes with familiarity, he supposed. He sat up in bed, and looked down at Schuldich, shifted his gaze to look at the alarm clock that Schuldich never paid attention to. They had one on each side of the bed, a remnant from the days they used to sleep in separate rooms. 

He'd screwed up his time schedule, slept in an additional 5 hours. He checked the future one more time, to ensure that it hadn't altered too significantly. The changes that had occurred were to be expected, but nothing too horrible to be dealt with. He nudged Schuldich. "Wake up." 

Schuldich made a face and pressed closer to Crawford. "Wake up, we slept in." 

"Ugh." Schuldich said, and rolled onto his back. "Fuck, we did?" 

"Yes, but I don't think anything will be significantly hindered. Don't dally in the shower, and don't eat a large breakfast." 

Schuldich laughed, opened one eye and squinted at him. "Fuckin bright in here, hate mornings..." He sat up and sighed, scratched his scalp and flopped back down. "Fucking haaate mornings." Crawford nudged him again. "What?" He muttered in an annoyed voice. 

"I'll shower with you." Crawford said with an amused smile. 

"You will?" Schuldich brightened considerably, sat up and kissed him on the mouth. 

"No dallying." He stressed again. 'Dally' was a joke word to them, a word they used when they were playing. 

"Aw," Schuldich exaggerated, "But _dallying_ is half the fun..." 

"Schuldich." Crawford was smiling just a little at him. 

"Spoil sport." Schuldich turned and swung his legs off the bed. "I don't see why I love you." 

Crawford sighed, but it was a sort of content sigh, as he got off the bed on his own side, "I thought I told you to stop saying that." They showered together, with minimal dallying.   
  
  


The flight to was boring, and Crawford had his hands full keeping Schuldich occupied. Farfarello looked out of place in the suit they made him wear, but he was behaving himself nicely. Another few hours and they'd be on location, then they would run the drill and come home. Crawford was grateful at least that it was a short flight, and did not see any events happening to make things difficult. 

"I refuse to ever fly coach ever again." Schuldich muttered. "They don't even serve liquor here." 

"I wouldn't let you drink, anyways." 

"Yeah, but the point is to have a fucking option." 

Nagi stared out the window, engrossed in the scenery. Farfarello kept on flexing his hands and moving his arms. 

They arrived, checked in at their hotel, and immediately re-introduced Farfarello to his straight jacket. "It's good to be home." Farfarello muttered, as the buckles slid in. "Felt naked, you know..."   
  
  


Nagi was sitting at the hotel table. The thing was brown and ugly, and the food that had been delivered had wilted with the steam, small droplets of the moisture still sitting on the Styrofoam lids. Nagi picked at it lightly. Farfarello was sitting with his back braced against the wall, his arms folded inside the straight jacket with an almost casual air. Schuldich was kicked back on the bed, feet firmly planted on the floor. 

Crawford pulled out his revised schematics, and unrolled the map and the clear plastic together at the same time across the table. Nagi moved aside the takeout with his telekinesis without having to be told. 

"The objective is obvious. Schuldich and I will take care of the target, Nagi already knows about the information we need. Farfarello, you work ground floor near the exit and take out anyone who tries to leave. Schuldich will relay orders as I issue them." He continued to outline all the necessary information, making sure to convey specifics as was applicable to their situation. "Details will be given as we arrive." Crawford concluded. "And Weiss will be there." 

Farfarello immediately started to laugh, and Nagi sighed. Schuldich grinned and said, "Oh, goodie." He laughed and it hit a harmonic chord with Farfarello for a moment. 

"Mm," Crawford nodded. "They're there for the same mark, really. So they'll be in our way. If they kill him or if I do, doesn't matter to me, just don't let them fuck up our objective. They'll want to stop Nagi on the fourth floor, so you'll keep an eye out for their computer brat, eh Nagi?" 

"Of course I will." He said softly, but he looked just a little amused, and then he flicked his eyes back up to Crawford and made eye contact, "-sir." 

Crawford nodded approval at him. "I know you can take him, but he can take you as well if you get careless. We'll do fine tonight, so long as we remain aware." 

Farfarello leaned forward and whispered softly, reverently, "May I kill 'em?" 

"Yes." 

"Aaaah..." Farfarello smiled and leaned back. "Tiger-claws is Christian..." And he tilted his eyes to the window, a soft smile formed at his lips. "God loves all his little children..." He let out a soft sigh, and didn't say much of anything else. 

Schuldich rolled his eyes and flopped back down on the bed. "God loves everyone, Farfarello. He loves Kenken just a little bit more." 

"Kenken." Farfarello sing-songed. "God loves -" 

"Schuldich," Crawford put a note of warning in his voice. "Don't fuck with Farfarello before a mission." 

"Hmmm." Schuldich said, "But he's fun. Can't I have some fun, Craw-daddy?" 

Crawford sighed and walked towards the window. The light spilt inwards in slats, highlighting tiny bits of lint that floated in the air. "Not at the cost of us as a team, Schuldich. We are not Weiss. We have our unity, we have each other." He took in a soft breath, opened the curtain and let in a stream of light. "There is a reason why they are a joke, and we are not. As a team, no one can ever equal us. As a team, we can rule the world, live life as we see fit. Apart we're just waiting to be locked away. A simple diagnosis away from a disassociative personality disorder. Individual psychos who claim to have supernatural powers. We might as well claim to be god, or from another planet." 

"You give us power." Farfarello whispered, and looked away from Crawford, focused his eye at an empty corner of the room. "You do." 

"No." Crawford turned and looked at the three of them. "No, we give each other power." 

Schuldich, Nagi, and Farfarello sat in silence.   
  
  


Objective: Dispose of the CEO of a pharmaceutical company that had helped aide in the production and development of a biological weapon. Steal their research data, and make sure it's destroyed. Who gave a shit if the employer wanted to sell it to the highest bidder or make sure it didn't fall into the wrong hands? Money was money. 

After business hours, minimal staff. Only research scientists on site, as well as the CEO. Everything was performed with professionalism. 

Weiss was there to do good, but Schwarz were there because they were hired to be there. Schwarz did not entangle themselves into the complicated subplots that their employers were weaving. They had long since learned their lesson. After being freed from Esstet, they had simply put out their abilities for hire. They did not talk about their talents in front of others. They did not do anything that would jeopardize their team. There was a reason they were the best: Crawford and his command, their sense of camaraderie for one another. Never fuck with chemistry, never get involved with plots. Do the job, collect payment, and leave the situation. 

Stain your hands with blood, not politics. 

Crawford walked up to their hit, pointed the gun casually, and pulled the trigger. Comfortable jolt up his arm, He made a mental note to sell the gun tomorrow, he'd already used the same gun for three hits in a row, it was time for a new one. 

A flash of knowing, an instant where the world freezes and then moves again. He knew what he was going to hear, he knew what he was going to see. He kept tabs on it from now on, just in case. 

"Ah," Schuldich said in annoyance, "they're here." 

"I know." 

"Of course you do." 

There was a moment where Crawford and Schuldich checked their clips, flashed each other wild grins. 

This was fun. This whole thing, fun. The tightness in the air, the premeditated control of their actions, the through danger of it all - fun. The darkness of the office, the body that was dying loudly on the floor, the money that was going to be wired to them later. All of it, _fun._

"Here he comes..." 

And the door opened, slowly, and slowly a sword tip moved in, steadily. Just when the hand holding the katana appeared, Schuldich swung forwards, and planted a momentum laden kick right into the knuckles of the hand holding the katana. 

"Aaaah, the pretty red one!" The katana clattered on the ground. The sound of their mark drowning in blood was loud in the office. Schuldich started to laugh and laugh and laugh. And he grabbed Aya by the hair, wrenched his neck to one side and smiled against his ear. "I like redheads." He whispered sensuously, flirtatiously, made certain to slide a hand across bare skin for a moment. Skin contact like this, it horrified him. Schuldich knew that. 

And that amused Schuldich infinitely. 

Aya bared his teeth, it almost looked like a smile. A low, rolling growl sound was heard and he tried to pull free. 

It was, of course, a fight Aya had no chance of winning. Schuldich made Aya confused, made Aya's world go backwards and melt, made Aya hallucinate Schuldich racing around him in circles, faster than humanly possible. Made Aya unable to tell up from down, unable to concentrate and focus. Aya froze, his eyes became wide for a moment, before narrowing to purple slits. 

"What no, 'shi-ne'?" Schuldich kicked him and danced back away from him. Aya swung his katana around as if he could jab at him with his senses confused. Schuldich laughed again, and tossed a look up at Crawford. He made a kiss face at Crawford and winked. "What do you think, baby, threesome?" 

"Hell, no." And he crossed his arms, but he found the sight amusing. 

"Aw." Schuldich said in mock sorrow. He moved his bright gaze back down to Aya, who was reaching out and jabbing at phantasms of Schuldich. Schuldich tilted his head to one side and smiled. If he were a cat, he'd twitch his tail. Schuldich touched his lower lip with the tip of his tongue, and shifted his weight from his right to his left foot. He walked forwards, and grasped Aya's left wrist, twisted it. He pulled Aya close, wrapped one arm around his waist and tightened his arm. "You know, you're beautiful." Schuldich whispered. "Maybe I'll play with you again some other time." 

Aya dropped to the ground in a faint. 

"Easy enough. Idiot." Schuldich kicked him in the head. He looked up at Crawford and grinned jauntily. "He's so self-important." 

In the lobby, Farfarello was pleased. No one had escaped his pike, but for the assassin. He didn't mind losing Ken. Ken was fun. 

He lifted his chin, and listened to Schuldich. He sighed, and looked at the corpses that littered the floor. No need to be clean this time, the corporation would do all the cover up for them. Nagi walked in, calm as the grave, his laptop satchel on his back. He glowed of accomplishment. 

"Ye do like he said?" 

"I always do." His voice was soft and deep. Nagi was prideful, and Farfarello approved. Nagi dipped his eyes and smiled. 

Crawford and Schuldich entered the lobby, Schuldich looked like he'd had some fun. Crawford looked like he just made a whole shitload of money. They took three hours to drive back to the hotel, to make sure no one was tailing them. Schuldich drove. They parked the car in a used parking lot, Nagi disabled the cameras, and they took a different one. 

"Red." Schuldich said, "let's get a red one this time." And he laughed. "Please?" 

"Red it is." And they took the car as casually as they took all the other ones. When they finally arrived at the hotel, Crawford had them convene in Nagi's hotel room, where the computers were. 

"Nagi, email our contact. Tell him that we finished. Schedule a meeting with him, if possible. If not, at least get him to give us a coded way to send this information to him. I'm going to bed." 

Nagi nodded, and looked away with a bit of a sigh. 

"Nagi?" 

"Yes, Crawford?" 

"You did well." 

Nagi looked a little uncomfortable, looked incredibly, shyly pleased. "I know." 

"Schuldich did you put Farfarello in his room?" 

"Sir yes sir." Schuldich drawled. 

Crawford arched a brow at him. "No need to be a smart ass about it, Schuldich." 

Schuldich shrugged. "Am I on your agenda for tonight, or shall I go out?" 

"I'd like it if you joined me." Crawford answered, "But you'll probably go out anyways." And Crawford went to their room. 

Schuldich stood there for a moment with Nagi. "Fuck, I hate it when he does that." 

Nagi looked up at Schuldich. "So, you going out?" 

Schuldich stood there and twitched. "He makes it hard even to be contrary. No matter what I do he can say, 'I told you so.'" Then he let out an aggravated sigh and followed Crawford. 

Crawford was sitting on the edge of the bed when Schuldich walked in. He paused at the door, watched Crawford remove his tie, drape it across a chair back, begin to undo his dress shirt. 

"Don't hover, Schuldich." 

Schuldich swore loudly, turned and left to go out. 

"Told you so." Crawford said lightly, a small amused smile on his face. Walking down the hallway, Schuldich mouthed the words a bit mockingly. He couldn't hear Crawford's thoughts, that was true, but he damn sure knew that's what Crawford was saying. 

They didn't think it was necessary to lay low after a mission. If Crawford didn't say otherwise, they all assumed it was safe. So Schuldich went out clubbing. He never could get Crawford to join him, not that he'd fit in much if Schuldich ever succeeded. 

The voices of a club made a music all its own. Warm undulations of bodies, mirrored by thoughts of beautiful body parts, sex fantasies, drunken confessions. It was enough to make Schuldich a little high. He liked clubbing, he liked the thoughts of all the people in the room, the way they tangled and meshed and twisted around him. He could reach into the air, pull out a strand of thought, slip them into his mouth and inhale its flavor, it was so tangible. 

He danced, he laughed, he got a little drunk. A couple of little mental nudges at a few willing minds and he got himself some free drinks. He flirted rather shamelessly. There was more than one person willing to take him home by the time he was ready to head back to the hotel. 

It amused him to snub them. This was his downtime, when he wasn't with Crawford. Just because Crawford didn't like the crowds, didn't mean that Schuldich stopped visiting them. Just because at home there was a willing lay didn't make him any less lascivious when he gazed upon the beautiful. 

The only real difference now was that he really didn't want to take them home and screw them. None of them were Crawford. He only flirted with them for fun, he only toyed with them for amusement. When he went back to the hotel, he felt better. Less stressed, less inclined to throttle Crawford to death for being so damn right all the time. 

Crawford was sitting their little hotel table when he walked into their room. "Still awake, eh?" Schuldich tossed his jacket carelessly onto the floor. Crawford's eyes were closed. 

"Mm." Crawford didn't open his eyes. "It'll be good to be home tomorrow." 

"Yeah. I miss the stupid place." Schuldich flopped down onto the bed. "But it's kinda cool not having to wash the sheets ourselves the morning after, hey baby?" Schuldich grinned. 

"Subtle as hell on horseback." 

"You like it." Schuldich answered smugly. "Quit pretending you don't." 

Crawford got up, sat on the bed, and laid a hand on Schuldich's cheek, stroked lightly, traced a tiny path down Schuldich's arm, once again drawing the scar to his lips. "I was hoping you'd come back earlier." He closed his eyes and held the wrist tightly for a moment, the tip of his tongue traced the shape of the dense, numb flesh that formed the scar. 

"If you hadn't been so damn uppity about it I would have." Schuldich laid a hand on Crawford's bare shoulder, pressed the palm there and enjoyed the skin. He moved in a circle, smiled up at Crawford with a bit of satisfaction. 

"But you're in a better mood from the club." Crawford said reasonably, and started to undo Schuldich's shirt, "Aren't you?" 

"Yes, I am." They kissed.   
  
  


Schuldich woke up later, and found that he'd once again ditched his pillow in favor of Crawford's arm. Hotel pillows were horrible things, anyways. He began to wonder if he should pack his own damn pillow when they went out for jobs like this, but then decided that Crawford's arm was a pretty damn good alternative. He smiled happily, stretched upwards, arms above his head -- and laid back down and moved close to Crawford again. 

"Getting soft in your old age." Crawford's voice. 

Schuldich laughed, and kissed Crawford's throat. "I'm never soft when it comes to you." 

"Sex sex sex, that's all it is with you." 

Schuldich lost a little of his amusement. "No, that's all it is with you." He corrected. "I'm in love with you, remember?" 

Crawford stroked back his hair lightly. "You never let me forget." 

"I love you." 

Crawford's fingers stopped playing with his hair. The room was quiet, they could hear a maid walking down the hallway. Schuldich felt Crawford's eyes on him, strong in disapproval. They were having an old argument. "I don't like it when you say that." Just a statement this time, none of the usual sharp impatience that his voice usually contained: Crawford, getting tired of repeating himself. Crawford grasped Schuldich's left wrist tightly, drew the arm close and rested his lips against the scar that was there. 

Schuldich jerked his arm away. "Yeah, I forgot, it turns you off." For a moment, he was too pissed off to really think clearly. For some reason, it angered him that Crawford brushed it off so carelessly, he thought he'd be happier if Crawford had yelled at him, made a fuss. At least that way, it wasn't just a casual brush off. 

They lay there in silence for a bit. "Oh, fuck it." Schuldich said suddenly. He didn't want to allow himself time to think. "Mornings are bad enough as they are without being all angsty and shit." He took in a breath, "I refuse to argue with you. Are you taking me out to eat or do I have to cook for myself when we get home?"   
  


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	2. The Etiquette of Scars

**Détente: Chapter Two: The Etiquette of Scars**

They were having sex. Hot, and rhythmic, skin brushing against skin in a comfortable, well practiced motion. It was probably because they've done it so much, that it was so good. He made a fists in the sheets, opened his mouth to moan and nothing came out, he bit his lower lip and breathed hard. Crawford's right hand carefully toying with one of Schuldich's nipples, Schuldich shuddered. His whole body was hyperaware, sensitive to caress right now. He had to make an effort to reach out and touch back, to remember that Crawford liked when he brushed his fingernails lightly at the small of his back. He released his hands on the sheets abruptly, ran hands over Crawford's back. 

"God, I'm so close..." He panted into Crawford's ear, tightened his entire body around Crawford. "Stop -- Brad, just stop a moment." And Crawford did, his hips were still as he kissed Schuldich's cheek, his temple, his forehead. 

When Schuldich felt more capable of handling the sensation again, he asked Crawford to move again. He was so lost inside feeling, he couldn't remember to try and pleasure Crawford back. It was difficult, when every breath Crawford exhaled against his skin made him shake. When he came, it was a great tension in his body, a sudden and almost unexpected ecstasy. His entire body went a little limp under Crawford, who was still moving inside him. He smiled up at Crawford, drew him down and kissed him on the lips. "Sometimes it's shocking how good you are." And they laughed comfortably, kissed some more. When Crawford finished off inside him, he didn't mind so much. 

They spent a moment kissing, before Crawford rolled away to sleep. 

Crawford was a good lover, considerate and skilled. Schuldich never had cause to complain about their sex life, their entire relationship was based on sex. 

Before Crawford fell asleep, he placed one lingering kiss on the scar at Schuldich's left wrist. 

Schuldich dragged himself to their bathroom. He used the toilet, splashed cold water on his face, ran it through his hair lightly. He always liked what he saw in the mirror. The high cheek bones and the fine chin that made his diamond shaped face. The dyed red hair with the jagged cut. His mouth was a little too fine for a man's face, and Schuldich's eyes were caught for a moment by that too-fine shape. Eventually he forced his eyes away from his own reflection, but admired the fine muscles of his torso as he turned away, and went back to the bedroom. 

He was allowed to be arrogant. He knew what he looked like, and he knew what he looked like to everyone else. And it was his body, his looks, that probably kept Crawford with him. 

Crawford was already asleep, the sheets half off the bed. Schuldich ran one possessive hand across his body, smiled and fell asleep pressed against him.   
  
  
  


It was probably going to be a month til their next job. That's how it usually worked. A little lay-low time, just to be sure that no one got entirely too suspicious. So now, Schuldich basically didn't have anything to do. 

It was night now. Schuldich couldn't sleep. Farfarello was chanting in his holding cell. Nagi was having a dreamless sleep. Crawford had taken his sleeping pills and would likely sleep uninterrupted for several more hours. 

Schuldich was thinking, remembering. He didn't want to think, he didn't want to remember. But at night, when the household was still, when the world was quieter than it normally was, he couldn't help it. 

Schuldich hated thoughts. 

He remembered coming home from the hospital. He remembered the way Crawford took care of him, spoke his calm and reasonable words. He remembered being talked into coming to grips with things. He remembered thinking of God on his deathbed, he remembered wanting to spit in his face. How dare God do this. How dare God do this to him. A man with no morals, a man with no heart, a man who's joy it was to hurt...crying from unrequited love. 

How fucking idiotic. 

Schuldich turned and draped an arm around Crawford, held onto him tightly. 

"Love you," He said against Crawford's back. "But you know that, don't you." He pressed his forehead against the wonderful skin of Crawford's back. He felt the crevices of old scars against his face. One scar from a bullet he couldn't dodge fast enough. One scar from Esstet's wonderful teachers, one scar from a car crash. They all had scars. Even Nagi had them, but he'd never say out loud who gave them to him. Schuldich knew, of course. It was simply out of respect he never said why to the others. 

Never do anything to hurt the team. He smiled a bit wryly. "We're nothing without each other. I'm nothing without you." 

He fell into an almost sleep then. His mind going a little blank, beginning to drift away. He started to feel restless again, however, he started to feel caged. 

Was he really nothing without Crawford? Is that the way it worked? He was a possession now? Just some good god damn soldier to order around? A convenient fuck? Was he willing to settle for that? Was he just going to live the rest of his god damn life as Crawford's bitch? 

Schuldich was getting more and more restless, more and more ferocious. He found he was clenching his teeth, digging his fingers into skin. 

He loved Crawford, he did. 

And it was fine Crawford didn't love him back. 

He was god damn used to it. It was an acceptable situation. It was an acceptable situation. He did not require his love to be requited, he did not require a god damn thing of the world. There was nothing in the world he couldn't do, control, fuck, or kill. He didn't need some idiotic man to love him back to make him feel better. He didn't need the whole god damn universe to make sense. 

And the ache was growing stronger. And he was remembering more and more. 

Schuldich shifted his weight on the bed. Schuldich was feeling... Schuldich felt... barely contained. He sat up in bed and gnashed his teeth suddenly. He was getting stir crazy. He needed to vent. He needed some fun. He needed something to occupy him before he went mad and destroyed all the things he'd been working for, the balance he had with Crawford that he worked so hard to maintain. 

So why the fuck did Schuldich feel so... so... stir crazy? 

He jumped out of bed and paced the floor. He started to feel more and more caged, until finally he walked out, shutting the door as quietly as he could behind him - resisting the urge to slam it. He wanted to growl at people, he wanted to shout at them. He wanted to sink the point of his knife into flesh and reclaim some of his mind back from all the squealing things that were fucking outside his skull. 

People, why the hell were they like that? So damn loud? So damn certain of themselves? All it took was a little boredom on his part, and they were dead. 

He flipped on the too bright light, the silence broken by the buzzing. 

Bees, great electric bees filled his ears, and Farfarello's chanting mind reasoned away the world. 

It was a sharp agitation, a growling need to just do something, anything.   
  
  
  


When Crawford woke up, it was to a familiar feeling. A fractured sense of foreboding, a light chill. He tapped into the future, the world meshed into itself in front of his eyes, a strange and to him, obvious shifting. Five minutes from now, preventing Schuldich from trying to stab at him with a steak knife. He listened to the words he used to calm Schuldich, made a few mental improvements in the dialogue. He got up, and pulled on his workout sweats. 

He'd torn the TV from it's stand, he'd shattered lamps against the wall. He'd made long long cuts on his legs. He'd cried until his eyes hurt, he'd destroyed everything he could touch on sight. Long, too perfect slashes on the couch, coffee on the floor from a cold mug of it left on the living room table. Breaking things had calmed him a little, given him a bit of an outlet from this horrible sense of being driven. 

There it was, the noise, the world thinking around him in some incomprehensible slur. His walls cracked, the little leaks of whispers. Like headphones, on someone else's head. He could hear them, tiny and high, far away, barely understandable. Twisting and twisting and hungering and reaching towards him, at him, devouring his brain in strands. 

He couldn't breathe. 

He couldn't see. 

He couldn't fix it. 

"Schuldich." 

He couldn't breathe. 

He couldn't hear. 

He didn't know how to. 

"Schuldich, look at me." 

It was trying to destroy him, hack him up into tiny pieces. It was trying to destroy him, kill him over and over again, and remind him forever. 

_This_ scar says he doesn't love me back.   
_This_ scar says I should have died.   
_This scar says I am worthless._   


"Schuldich." Crawford's voice, harsh and insistent. "Look at me, damnit." 

And it all cracked suddenly, it all tumbled away. The word, "no" tore itself out of him, without warning, shocking himself, a scream. His muscles clenching hard and thrashing. Rage, murder, pain, loneliness, caged despair. The whole world thinking around him, tearing him into pieces. 

Remember who I am.   
Remember who I am.   
Remember who I am.   


"Please, god..." it was out of him, a prayer, a litany, "Please, god." 

Love me back.   
Love me back.   
Love me back.   


His arms were grasped hard. He could see perfectly Crawford's features. Crawford's gorgeous, sexy eyes. He wasn't wearing his glasses. Crawford's face was almost too beautiful to be safe, almost feminine, but there was too much arrogance in his neutral face. He was male, obviously male, obviously dominating. Schuldich could see the light purple, faint outline of a vein in the white of Crawford's eye. As perfect as a snapshot, a drawing. Still, and silent. 

And he realized he was being talked too. He'd been listening all this time, not understanding. 

First it was the voice, then it was the words. 

"It's alright. Calm down, it's alright." And he was being pulled down to Crawford's shoulder. "Calm down now." Instructions. Perfect. Exactly what Crawford would say. 

A finger traced the shallow scar on his forehead. "I shouldn't have let him do this." Crawford was talking almost as if this was normal. "You may have done something incredibly stupid, but still, smacking you with a golf club was a bit much. You didn't work for a week after that." 

It's always about work. 

Lips touched that scar, softly. "I shouldn't have let him do it." Crawford kept talking. Schuldich thought distantly, that Crawford probably felt better with some noise in the room. 

Crawford talked too much, and but the words were soothing in their complete lack of pretense, the way the topic meandered all over the place (That was an expensive tv, he'd ruined. They should buy one of those new ones, the flat ones that didn't take up too much room. A new DVD player, what movies did he want to buy? Perhaps they should get a new job soon, so that he didn't have so much time to himself like this. He was a good worker, part of the team. They were a good team. They had a good balance.) 

He didn't pay a great deal of attention to what Crawford was saying until he felt his left arm being drawn up, felt the scar receive a light kiss. 

"This scar means you belong to me." 

As precious as a shot glass, a favorite pair of shoes. He closed his eyes, realized that he was relaxed, realized that before this, he was a tight tight knot. 

The room was a mess. 

His breath was coming in easier now, and Crawford was holding him less tightly. And the world was quieter. 

"I suppose that means you'll take good care of me." Far far far away, barely there at all. His own voice was tired, sore from yelling as loud as he could, his thoughts came at him randomly. "Shine me up, good as new, put me on a high shelf so I won't break." He closed his eyes. Crawford was wearing no shirt, he felt warm against the skin of his chest. "Take me down to play with me.... Have your fun... put me back... if I break you can get a new one... downtown.... On sale..... thirty-nine-ninty-five... and you'll think, 'I needed a new one anyways.'" 

He laughed, put both his arms around Crawford. For a moment, the world vibrated around him again, threatening to come down on him one more time. 

Crawford stroked his hair, and kissed his temple. 

The quiet came back, again. 

It was the only thing Crawford ever gave him. 

The rest, he had to take.   
  


* * *

_www.contrary-perfection.net_


	3. Life and Work

**Détente: Chapter Three: Life and Work**   
  


He was giving Nagi lessons in perfection. 

"In this job, anything less than perfect means you're dead." A simple statement. He meant it. Crawford pulled out his gun, elegantly, not even bothering to be fast. His eyes don't change at all, but they never do. It's the same face he wears when he kills, another person's life doesn't matter to him. He received no thrill from it, he has no remorse. It's a fact, a reality, something casual he does when he's on the clock. Murder is not how he gets his kicks, murder is not where the action is. 

Schuldich could easily remember that Crawford's addiction to perfection used to piss him off. But now, he had to admit, it was damn sexy. 

"I'll never have to use a gun." Nagi said, completely sure of himself. He crossed his arms, and looked away. 

Teenagers. Guns were not what Crawford was talking about. 

Crawford glanced at Schuldich, his eyes were goldish-brown, mild amusement tugging at his lips. A strong, large hand reaches out, wraps around the back of Schuldich's neck, and he's drawn in for a kiss. It's light, and affectionate, and Nagi's lesson continued. 

Schuldich reminded himself that Crawford's kisses did not mean affection. Crawford kissed him because kisses felt good. 

"I'm going to be thirty soon, this is the height of my career. I am physically fit, but age will eventually slow me down. You've got to work now, on what you'll need later." 

"That makes no sense." Nagi didn't really believe him. No one really did. 

Crawford was going to be perfect until he died. 

And the lessons continued, the long lectures on logic Nagi's been listening to since he was picked up by Crawford. Nagi was used to Crawford being there to take care of them, the team, everything. Schuldich was too. Crawford always insisted that they prepare for the future. 

"Don't be an idiot, Nagi." 

Schuldich was just watching. He didn't bother to contribute. Why should he? Nagi thought he knew everything Crawford was saying, and was completely missing the point. It's hard to teach Nagi to be a leader, he's so used to following. 

An open field, the targets were lined up. Nagi telekinetically nudged the bullets at the paper hearts. Crawford launched into another lecture. Who knew what the future would bring? 

Schuldich and Nagi laughed a little, looked away. 

"Nagi, point and shoot." Crawford's voice was dripping in paternal scorn: It's that simple, why can't you do it? 

Schuldich allowed himself a very small, prideful smile. He was one of the few people in the whole world allowed the dangerous privilege of knowing how to read Crawford's body language, his voice. 

And Nagi aimed his 9 mm semi-automatic, and Crawford started to talk at him. Crawford was trying to distract him, divide his attentions. "You've got to be aware of more than one thing at a time, Nagi. If you walk around with a sack over your head you're going to die without me." 

Schuldich hated when Crawford talked like this. He sighed, tuning out the lectures. Looked around. It was nice here. Japan made him more aware of open spaces. 

Schuldich could tell it was going to end very soon. Nagi just couldn't do it. That was the magic of the team, wasn't it? Everyone had their place, their specialty. Each was perfect in their own post. 

Schuldich felt a tug on his arm, a hand resting almost gallantly at his waist. "Why don't you show him?" Crawford was just tall enough look down at Schuldich. Was that a flirtatious smile? 

Schuldich shrugged. The green fabric of his three quarter trench coat was starting to get fuzzy from feathery pollen. "Don't feel like it." He flipped the collar to his coat, to avoid the wind. The hand at his back pressed a little, their bodies were close. 

It felt good - warm. Crawford leaned up against his ear and kissed it without saying anything, returned to teaching Nagi. 

There weren't many people here at all. A few cars driving by, a few distracted, daydreaming minds. The sky was white with featureless clouds, and the wind was chilled. Fall time. Schuldich's least favorite time of the year. 

He caught Crawford's eye, one more time. Crawford's eyes lingered a bit, but he kept on talking to Nagi. 

It hadn't even been discussed, it was Nagi by default. When Schuldich asked "why" out of curiosity, Crawford said that it was likely Schuldich would die at the same time. Schuldich made a flippant comment about how romantic that was. He didn't really care. He wasn't a leader. He wasn't a follower. If he did somehow survive Crawford's future death, well, he'd probably just leave Farfarello and Nagi in the dust. 

Take all his money and just leave. 

Later, they'd probably talk about how to tell when a person is lying, how to look into a person's eyes. The dilation of pupils, where they were focused. A vocal tick, a reference to religion. Where your own attention is focused. Don't be too focused, don't stare at the left hand while the right hand prepares to slit your throat. 

Schuldich kicked a pebble, wound up tearing some grass out with the toe of his boot. Crawford's fingers brushed some hair away from his cheek. Crawford was being very touchy today. 

Several kisses and a lecture or two later, Schuldich realized something. 

Recognized something, to be more exact. 

It was a familiar pattern. Crawford would talk to Nagi, make some points, some criticisms, and almost randomly reach out and touch Schuldich, make eye contact, or smile. If he said something to Schuldich, it was often to make Schuldich laugh. When Schuldich finally recognized it, he felt immensely flattered. 

It was nice, knowing he was still worthy of being seduced.   
  
  
  


It's the hallway now, at their rental house, mid-afternoon. The long, soft, insistent kisses Schuldich was receiving right now were perfect. 

Schuldich was pressed against the doorframe, outside their new bedroom. He swapped at the doorknob, he missed a few times. When he finally did catch it, he couldn't remember which direction to turn it, or if he should push or pull. 

Neither Crawford nor Schuldich opened their eyes. Smoothly, without any visible effort on Crawford's part, he reached out and grasped Schuldich's wrist, guided his hand so it was resting in a much better place. Smoothly, and without any effort, he reached out, turned the doorknob, and pushed the door in. 

Schuldich drew just enough away to smile, and mutter, "Show off."   
  
  
  


White, rumpled sheets, and two men, not quite asleep, and not quite holding each other, laying on them. Schuldich has his neck resting on Crawford's arm, and Crawford is toying with the short, fine hairs behind Schuldich's ear. 

They should have ordered supper hours ago. Maybe Nagi learned some initiative and ordered himself something to eat. Maybe he even remembered to feed Farfarello. 

Schuldich closed his eyes, and thought to himself that Crawford was definitely a cat person.   
  
  
  


At the computer, Crawford finally decided that they had had enough down time, and went through their various email addresses looking for the right job to take. He sat at the computer for a few moments, clicking on emails and emails, and sighed with a bit of irritation. 

"Hm?" Schuldich asked from the bed. 

"If I could kill the people who send us these advertisements, I would." 

Schuldich laughed.   
  
  
  


Sometimes, it felt as though work were actually interjected in their life, and sometimes, it felt the other way around. It's odd, that way.   
  
  
  


The man at the desk was another example of the foolishness of businessmen who think they can handle the criminal life. He was absolutely sure of himself. He was absolutely sure he was dealing with brainless muscle men, he was absolutely sure every casual lie he told would go unnoticed. 

Schuldich smiled, slid up to Crawford, and pressed his lips close. Exaggerated lover's embrace, "He's an idiot," He whispered. 

Crawford smiled, and rubbed his cheek on Schuldich's hair. 

"I know where she is." Schuldich draped against Crawford. "It's easy." 

The foolish businessman made a face of revulsion. He'd had no idea he'd hired faggots to protect him. 

Schuldich laughed, kissed Crawford's cheek, and let go of him. 

It was simply a matter of acquirement. It didn't need to be bloody, this time.   
  
  
  


Oh, but it was so much more fun their way. 

"I like this..." Schuldich's voice didn't have much weight to it. 

"I know." Crawford. 

Schuldich pulled out a knife, leaned in close, and made eye contact with her, small smile on his lips, slightly arrogant and playful. He didn't blink. Farfarello moved in close at the exact same time, their expressions identical. 

Mission accomplished.   
  
  
  


The office was a nice place. Very "modern art". Crawford smiled smoothly at the man he was dealing with. He was in the process of realization, and it was written all over his face. 

"So you see, it would be in your best interest." Crawford kept his voice even, smoothed out his slacks as he stood. 

An aquarium that was placed in a recess inside the wall bubbled soothingly, and the rather obscenely formed goldfish swimming in the tank looked striking, with an orange curl of fin swaying lazily. The walls were charcoal, and the floor matched. The desk was a black, gloss with a single blotter on it and a computer. The businessman behind it was very still. It took a moment for him to figure out how to react. 

Of course, by then it was too late. 

Schuldich reached into his inside pocket, pulled out a mini-cassette player. Slid it across that high gloss black desk on its face. The very still businessman made no move to play it. 

"Lies. You're lying. You can't do that. Not to me. I hired you." 

Three minutes left. Crawford decided to place some trust on his team, and smiled. "If it's lies, then it wouldn't hurt to play the cassette." Perfectly polite, perfectly measured. He didn't bother with theatrical threats, they were all implied. The shift in power in the room should be obvious to anyone with a survival instinct. 

Nearly two minutes, now. 

The businessman reached down to the desk, and picked up the upside-down mini-cassette player. 

The voice of someone desperate came out of the small speaker. Young, and female. Soft, and begging, nearly broken. The speaking voice turned into a scream, and the speaker lost audio resolution. Crawford gave the businessman a very polite smile, and gestured with his hand. 

"You didn't seem like the paternal kind of man, but I suspect that this has an effect on you anyways." 

So close now, very close. Just over a minute left. There was a tint of amusement to the whole situation for him now. 

Behind him, forming a lopsided triangle, was Schuldich, Farfarello, and Nagi. Schuldich was wearing his loud, ugly green three quarter trench, and his white pants. Nagi was wearing regular street clothes, a pair of black jeans and a t-shirt that read, "I'm not in love". Farfarello looked, as usual, as though he'd just left a bondage club. In general, they probably wouldn't be noticed walking the street, except for Farfarello's slightly fanatical expression. 

Very soon. 

"Right." The businessman said. "Whatever you want, just give her back." He moved from behind the desk, and started to casually walk towards the aquarium. As he neared Crawford, Crawford turned away from him and started to walk away. He could hear the rustle of cloth, the gun that was being drawn. 

At that exact moment, Nagi's mouth opened as he just noticed the motion, hesitated - and Schuldich pulled out his gun, and kicked at the man's stomach. He pinned his arm against a wall, he pressed the barrel to the man's palm, he pulled the trigger. 

Crawford would have to talk to Nagi about that hesitation, later. 

A loud sound of pain, and Schuldich let go of the businessman's arm. The man opened his mouth, choked back some noise, and clenched his teeth hard. The man finally let out a moan of pain, and hit the back of his head twice on the wall behind him. "God damnit." 

Crawford flicked a look at Farfarello, who appeared to find the whole thing rather amusing. 

But apparently Schuldich didn't quite have enough. His face and turned into rage, and he was about to swoop down and beat the shit out of the source of their next paycheck. 

Crawford caught him, drew him back into an embrace. "That's enough." He said calmly. And Schuldich turned to look at him, his eyelids dipped lightly. It may have been described as 'sensuous' - but 'feral' may have come closer. 

Crawford made certain not to let go of Schuldich. The contact would calm him. 

"You see, we've got the upper hand here. I didn't want to insult your intelligence by saying so out loud, but it seems you've insulted yourself." Crawford absently hooked a thumb into one of Schuldich's belt loops, and tightened his arm as he felt Schuldich want to pry away. 

What would happen if he let go? Inside his mind, a man lay, choking on his own blood, and the carpet was soaked in goldfish water and a few of the orange and red ones were twisting, dying. 

He turned to whisper into Schuldich's ear, "He wouldn't have killed me." 

Schuldich didn't take his eyes away from the man he still wanted to kill. "He would have died trying." 

Schuldich had a temper, and was overprotective at best. But Crawford had decided a few years ago that it was healthy to allow Schuldich to act out every once in a while. If a client got injured - well, a dangerous reputation was usually the result. And that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. 

They went to their new rental. Nagi sent the information to their client. They disposed of the girl's body, neatly placing it in two large boxes on her father's front porch. Schuldich suggested that the father be killed later, and Crawford agreed it would probably be wise. But that would be later, for now he wanted a cup of coffee. 

First, he talked to Nagi. Then, he made sure Schuldich properly secured Farfarello. Then, he decided that coffee will just have to wait until after he got some sleep. It was almost five in the morning. He could get four hours of sleep and still have a relatively normal day. He did not bother to check the future. 

Crawford yawned, and started to disrobe. He felt arms wrap around him, and the soft feeling of a nose against his skin and lips, and now a cheek. "Saved your life today." 

Right, this game - Crawford smiled. "Oh, did you?" 

"You haven't let me be top in ages." Without turning Crawford around, he put his arms around him and started to help him undo the buttons on his shirt. "And I demand payment."   
  


* * *

_www.contrary-perfection.net_


	4. A Little Bit More

**Détente: Chapter Four: A little bit more**   
  


It was going to be a regular evening. Nagi was out, Farfarello was very very in, and Schuldich and Crawford were reading and watching TV, respectively. 

Simple. 

No jobs as of yet, they were still living comfortably off their last paycheck. Usually, they didn't take work unless they needed more money. There was a threshold of broke Crawford kept his eyes on, and if they neared it, they'd take a job and go and earn some more. Too much work, and they risked being obviously criminal, too little and they went broke. It was a balance they had to maintain. 

Crawford casually flicked a look up above the edge of his book, simply keeping track of what Schuldich was doing. 

Schuldich was lounging on their bed, one knee crooked up, the other stretched out before him and an arm behind his head. He was watching an action movie, and whenever there was gunfire he'd laugh. 

"Tscha, right. Right there." He made a fake gun with his right hand, aimed it at the head of the hero protagonist who was firing and ducking on the TV screen, and pulled the trigger. Schuldich laughed again. 

Crawford decided that he liked Schuldich's smile quite some time ago. It was rakish, devil-may-care, and rather contagious. It was also so full of ego that there was no room for self-doubt. He let his eyes move over Schuldich, taking in the lounging posture. The casual power he held in his frame. Crawford had seen that body move in fights, in gunfire. 

Schuldich happened to look up at Crawford just then, and flashed Crawford a special smile. 

"Brad, you're looking at me like that again." 

"Well, you're looking like that again."   
  
  


Downtime is fun. Not as fun as when they were at work, but still, very fun. Crawford felt he lead an idyllic life. Everyone he surrounded himself with was respectful. All the work he took tested his skill. And the lover he kept in his bed... well, adored him. He had perfect command of his life, which is all he ever wanted.   
  
  


They were staying someplace nice, this time. A small rent-a-house at the very edge of town. Neighbors were far away. Three bedrooms and a very deep basement. They hadn't been at their permanent house in almost three months. But that was fine, they didn't need to actually be "home" very often. That's just the place they went to when they felt like taking an extended leave from the field. So this place was as good as any. 

Very quaint. An old brown crushed carpet with patches worn at the door, and a kitchen that was mainly used for re-heating leftovers from whatever restaurant they'd been at the previous day. Small kitchen, but it served its purpose. 

Nagi had claimed the room that had the most accessible outlets (and the ever important phone line) and immediately shut and locked the door behind him. Farfarello was shut away in the basement first thing. They didn't always have a setup this convenient, so it was comfortable. 

Everything was in its right place, carefully controlled, and monitored. Crawford saw to it. So, he hadn't bothered to check to see what the future held in a few weeks. The daily routine was predictable enough as it was.   
  
  


Schuldich was at the edge of mayhem. It was all too god damn quiet. He couldn't quite rip his eyes away from the driveway, through the kitchen window. He was just a little fascinated by the grain of the pavement, and the way the grass bent over for each little droplet of rain that struck it. Just off in the distance, he could feel an entire city thinking. 

He shifted his weight, and tried to rip his eyes away from the driveway. He couldn't quite do it. It was mesmerizing, rhythmic, predictable, and alot safer than shifting his focus to the people around him. 

Angst ridden Nagi. 

Hyper-religious Farfarello. 

Perfectly silent Crawford. 

So he kept his gaze focused as tightly as he could on the movement of the grass. It would occur to him now and then, that he really wanted to do something else. But that ever present babble made staring so much safer. 

When Crawford's hand closed over his shoulder, he convulsed away as though he were being attacked. 

"Sssh, shh. It's just me." 

Schuldich let out a shiver of a sigh. He was able to turn his head now, but still couldn't quite focus his eyes, and he kept wanting to turn back to the relative safety of the rain. 

"It's okay. Come to bed now." 

Schuldich had the strange feeling, that if he stopped looking at the driveway, it would stop existing. 

"Come on." 

And he was guided away. 

Crawford's standard way of drawing him back away from the edge was sex. Schuldich at times felt insulted. Here he was, about to go utterly insane, and Crawford wanted to fuck him. He always had to remind himself: This is how he deals with me, this is the best he can do. 

It rarely got any better then it was right at that exact moment. Slowly teasing, slowly kissing, all of it was as tender as it ever got. Arching on the sheets, almost enjoying himself. That's the way it was. 

Crawford's hands were down the front of his pants, rubbing at him inside his underwear. Schuldich tilted his head to one side for Crawford to press kisses at his neck. His breathing was deeper now, excitement making him a little disoriented. Without thinking, he pulled Crawford down to whisper, "I love you," up against his ear. 

"Sssh." 

And Crawford rubbed his cheek against Schuldich's, bent his head down to kiss Schuldich on the shoulder. He was being soothed. Schuldich should like this, this should feel very tender, this should make him feel cared for. 

"I do." 

"Stop it." 

They kept moving, touching. Schuldich started to feel slighted. 

"Why won't you let me say it?" He heard himself start to demand. He pushed at Crawford now, glaring up at him. "If you know it, why the hell won't you let me say it?" 

"Calm down, Schuldich." 

"No." He pushed Crawford completely away. "Fuck you, no." 

He rolled off the bed, more or less dressed. He paced to one wall, turned around. He was enraged -- he was more enraged than he'd been in ages. "God damnit, Brad. I want to say it." 

Crawford rolled onto his side and glared at him from the bed. "No." 

"Well why the hell not?" 

"I don't want you to, that's reason enough." 

"No. No, it isn't." Schuldich started to move his arms around in exaggerated anger. "I love you. I'm in love with you. I love love love fucking love you. Let me say it. At least let me say it when we have sex." 

"Schuldich, calm the hell down." 

"Fuck you." 

"God damnit, Schuldich." 

"Fuck," He hissed, "you. Why won't you at least let me say it when we have sex, huh? Why not? Does it turn you off that much?" He started to feel a little weak. "Why not?" There was a note of pleading in his voice. "At least in sex, Brad, please." 

"No." 

Breathing became difficult. "Please..." He closed his eyes, gripped his red hair and looked up. "Just, please, okay? Please, just in sex. I promise. Brad, that's all I want. You don't have to say it back or feel it back or anything." He closed his eyes. His heart was beating so fast, he couldn't quite breathe and he was starting to feel dizzy. "... shit." He walked back to the bed and sat down, held his head in his hands. "Please." The word came out breathy, it didn't project very far. 

Crawford placed a hand on the nape of his neck, started to knead gently. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Schuldich just sat there, shirtless, with his head resting on his hands, a deep pounding headache at his temples and forehead, thoughts pressing closer and closer. Crawford very gently touched his hair, drew him close so that Schuldich's head was resting against his shoulder. 

"We'll do this later." 

Schuldich nodded against him.   
  
  


Everything is normal, everything is routine. Crawford had a handle on everything. Work and play, violence and sex -- they were all under control.   
  
  


Gunfire. The stink of it was in the air, you can taste it in your mouth, although you couldn't quite hear it. Quite a few bullets in the air. It was a deal gone messy. The light in the office wasn't very good. That was the first thing Nagi took out. They didn't need light to take out their targets. Nagi put on some night goggles and walked around crushing people, Farfarello slashed at anything that moved, and Schuldich shot whoever had a thought. He started to move forwards, away from Crawford's side, ready to take down anyone and anything. Crawford grabbed his arm, pulled him forcibly close, "Tell them to stop moving." 

'Them', meant the team. 

Crawford was very still for a moment, reached upwards without moving his body, aimed the gun without looking, and pulled the trigger. The very quiet, but definitely not silent, silencer muted the shot. There was a hot exclamation of startled pain. Schuldich's mind tasted the rich flavor of a man dying. 

"Nice parlor trick." He said against Crawford's ear, "Can you pull quarters from behind my ear, as well?" 

"I prefer other tricks than that." 

"Oh, really?" And Schuldich nipped at a small spot on Crawford's neck. "I'll have to have you show me those, later." 

They broke away, quickly, searching out the rest of the idiots who thought they were an easy target.   
  
  


They were waiting in the car for Nagi and Farfarello to finish doing the last sweep of the building. Only one left, and the last one was always a bitch to find. 

Schuldich refused to tell them where he was at. He wanted some time alone with Crawford, and decided that it was amusing sending Nagi and Farfarello out on such a stupid, menial task. Schuldich turned to Crawford suddenly, and decisively, smiling his best come-hither smile. "So, about those tricks --?" 

Crawford raised his eyebrows. "Won't take them long to weasel out the last one." 

"Well, they'll be long enough to get started, anyways." He reached over with his right arm and caught the hem of Crawford's dress coat. They kissed each other, the first kiss was fine and soft. The second kiss became hungrier, and they opened their mouths and slipped each other tongue. Schuldich pulled away, eyes glittering. "I don't think I've ever kissed anyone like how I kiss you." 

"Good." Crawford stated simply. "Now tell Nagi and Farfarello where the straggler is." 

"No." Schuldich said petulantly, "don't want to." 

"Schuldich..." His tone was warning. Schuldich was very aware that if Nagi or Farfarello did this, they'd probably have been smacked to the floor by now. Screwing him nightly had its privileges. 

Neither of them said anything for a minute. Crawford was glaring at him a little, and Schuldich kept his smirk up a while longer before he finally relented. "Oh, fine. You're not fun anymore." And he made an exaggerated movement of frustration. "Happy?" 

Schuldich searched his pockets for his cigarettes. He finally located them, reminded himself to start keeping them in the same pocket all the time, and light up. "Cig?" 

Crawford shook his head 'no' absently and continued to watch the entrance. 

"Suit yourself." And he leaned back in the driver's seat and smoked leisurely. 

If Crawford's guess was correct, and it usually was, Farfarello had just now located the straggler. Farfarello was probably killing him a little too exuberantly, and that meant that Nagi and Farfarello would take a moment to relocate each other and meet at the car.   
  
  


It would have been a lot more amusing if they were still stuck in that building dodging gunfire. 

"Well, why the hell not?" Schuldich demanded again and again. Schuldich was gritting his teeth at Crawford, yelling at him. 

Crawford counted to ten, and coolly said once again, "Because I said not to." 

"But why not in sex?" Schuldich leaned in again, "Why not then? I'd never say it in public. You know already. It makes no god damn sense and it's driving me insane, Brad." His voice cracked. 

"Stop it. Just, stop it already." And Crawford gave up and left the room. He went into his office and shut the door, thought about it a moment and then locked it. He pulled out a bottle of bourbon, and sat down to have a good drink. 

He sighed a breath heated by alcohol. Leaned back and looked at the ceiling. 

He didn't bother thinking the situation though. 

Four glasses later, he fell asleep reclined in his office chair.   
  
  


It wasn't as if Schuldich would die without Crawford. He wasn't completely, mindlessly desperate to have Crawford's love. 

No, that wasn't entirely true. 

The longer they were fuck buddies the lonelier the sex got. 

It was now at the point where Schuldich felt worse after orgasm than before. It still felt good, Crawford was never unkind to him. Rough, at times, but that's just the way sex is. It's just that every now and then, he thought that maybe... it would be nice, if it meant a little bit more. 

A little bit more than stress relief. 

A little bit more along the lines of affection. 

A little bit more like... 

But that was all idiocy, anyways. 

And Schuldich fell asleep in bed alone that night, thinking to himself, that it really would be nice, if things were just a little bit different.   
  


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	5. Breaking Points

**Détente: Chapter Five: Breaking Points**   
  


The light that came in and hit Schuldich's eyelids felt as though it were coming from the wrong direction, and he couldn't quite place why it was he wasn't entirely comfortable. 

First he remembered they were still in the rental. 

Next, he realized that he was sleeping partially on the wrong side of the bed. 

Ah, yes, that's right, the argument. 

He felt a weight on the bed, at that exact moment, lightly calloused fingers dragging along his jaw line. 

"Morning." Crawford's perfect baritone. 

"Yes, it is." Schuldich opened his eyes. Crawford still looked rumpled from sleeping in his work clothes. Crawford leaned over him then, kissed him on the lips. 

This meant that they wouldn't talk about last night. 

"A little make up sex?" Crawford offered. 

"Oh, why not." Schuldich smiled a bit lopsidedly. 

They started to undress each other, reaching for each other at the same time. Their hands for a moment brushed against each other, and they started to kiss. "What is it with you and morning sex?" 

Crawford kissed Schuldich and smiled against his lips, "It's the only thing that can make mornings bearable." 

Schuldich laughed, wrapped an arm around Crawford's shoulder and pulled him down. They resumed kissing, this time Crawford just supported his weight on his arms, as Schuldich unbuttoned his shirt. Finally his chest was bare, and Schuldich ran a hand up from his navel, to his throat, enjoying the feel of him. 

And it felt good, sensuous. Rubbing hands along each other, kissing, sucking, clumsily undressing. Schuldich smiled contentedly, and closed his eyes. Schuldich pulled off Crawford's dress coat, and pulled off Crawford's dress shirt, both of them mostly white with brown dirt smudges on some of the creases. He tossed them on the floor without much thought where they landed. Crawford started to suck on Schuldich's neck, and Schuldich purred in warm appreciation. Crawford let the moist bit of flesh slip from his mouth, kissed up Schuldich's jaw and then planted a gentle kiss on Schuldich's lips. 

Rotating their hips, grinding in close, the wonderful hardness of the pelvic bone through jeans and slacks, and the tingling hunger that grew as their erections rubbed against the cloth. 

When Crawford drew away to take off his glasses, set them on the night stand, Schuldich very precisely, reached up and caught him, drew him back down. A wicked grin on his lips, which Crawford read as a playful and sexual smile. Schuldich licked his lips once, pulled Crawford closer, and with a great deal of smug pride, stated as clearly as he could, "I love you, Brad." 

The reaction startled Schuldich, and perhaps even startled Crawford as well. 

With a huge snarl, Crawford grabbed Schuldich by the hair and jerked him upwards, "God damnit, Schuldich, shut the hell up." And he slammed Schuldich's head back so hard it struck the headboard with a crack that made Schuldich temporarily dazed. 

"Holy fuck, Crawford." Schuldich growled at him. And without pausing to think about it, attempted to slam his knee into Crawford's groin. 

And Crawford reacted by slamming his fist into Schuldich's face before he could really set his mind to task. And suddenly he grasped Schuldich's throat, his eyes had gone sharp and dangerous, leaned in and said tensely, "I told you, to stop saying that." Each word was enunciated tautly, so tautly that you could feel that every bit of control behind the voice was about to snap and all hell was about to break lose. His right hand tightened to the point where Schuldich couldn't breathe. "I told you, to stop saying that, didn't I? Didn't I? God damn it, Schuldich will you stop testing me?" 

Schuldich grabbed Crawford's gun from under the pillow, attempted to slam the butt of it against Crawford's head. Crawford deflected it before it could connect, and in the process the gun was lost. 

And in the process, Crawford was forced to release Schuldich. Schuldich rolled out of bed as fast as he could, whirled around and faced him. 

"You son of a bitch, are you trying to kill me?" 

"Look, god damn it, I warned you, didn't I? I told you not to say that and you went and fucking said it anyways." 

"I can't help it, I'm in love with you." 

Too much. 

Crawford was suddenly simply there, pressed against him again, with none of the familiar feeling of lust between them. 

Once again, a hand around Schuldich's throat that was so tight he couldn't breathe. 

"I... told you, not to say that." All semblance of perfect control was gone. 

Schuldich smiled at him, and would have laughed if he had the breath. 

Crawford's hand tightened again, squeezing harder and harder and harder, until at last he realized he was trying to kill Schuldich. 

Before he could loosen his grip completely, Schuldich managed to slam a fist into Crawford's stomach. 

"You like me like this, don't you? Don't you, Crawford? You like me fucked up in the head so I'm forced to stay with you, god damnit admit it." 

"Admit what? What the hell am I supposed to do, Schuldich? Take you to a god damn psychiatrist?" he was still glaring, he still wanted to fight. "Oh, doctor, can you fix him? Only don't fix him too much, because I still want him to be able to kill in cold blood and make me a lot of money come September." 

Schuldich laughed sharply, bitterly, and only once. "Go to hell." 

And he turned to leave. 

As far as he was concerned, forever. 

And Crawford knew. 

Crawford turned back to the bed, stalked over to the other side where the gun lay, and grabbed it. 

He had absolutely no intention to let Schuldich go. 

Out, to the living room. Out, to the front door, out and away from Crawford. Forever, if at all possible. 

He heard the sound of gunfire, it didn't surprise him one bit. When he felt no bullets hit, he didn't question what that meant, only grabbed his jacket and the car keys, only checked to see if he had cash. 

He needed away. 

He needed away from Crawford. 

If the whole world could cave in him right now, if the world could swallow him whole, devour his mind and leave him a breathing corpse, he'd welcome it, with open arms. 

He couldn't live life like this for even one more minute.   
  
  


Nagi was standing there, calmly, eyes downcast. 

Crawford was looking at him, level. 

Nagi finally lifted his eyes, met Crawford's sharp angry gaze. 

If you can ever tell that Crawford is angry by looking at him, usually that means you were about to die. 

Nagi sighed softly, and dropped his gaze again, "You'd have regretted it."   
  


* * *

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	6. Separate Meditation

**Détente: Chapter Six: Separate Meditation**   


The motel he was staying at was nice, in a rather cheap way. Upon entering you were struck immediately with how shabby it was, and how very clean: one bed only slightly stained sheets, a shower and bathroom, and a TV with a basic cable package. It was a place for very rich businessmen who had no budget to spend. A luxurious, inexpensive, slightly sleazy motel. 

Schuldich liked it right away. And he was sitting at the brown guest table, looking out a crack in the curtain, smoking a cigarette and contemplating. 

Part of him really just wanted to go back. Bite the bullet, and apologize. The rest of him wanted Crawford to be the one to apologize. __

"So, how long have you been in Japan?"   
"A while."   
"You have no accent at all."   
An amused smile, and the stranger ran his hands through his own red hair.   


And in the end, he just wound up ordering some food (bad food, cheap food) and sitting at the very ugly brown table and thinking. 

So what next? __

The redhead touched his chin, tilted his head to one side and smiled. His eyes were reminiscent of a cat, the way they stared unblinking, right at him - straight through him. "You aren't that bad looking, you know."   
A smile, "Thank you." And he thought that the redhead reminded him a little of the Cheshire Cat…   
"Do you believe in fairytales?"   
"What?"   
"Fairytales. You know, scary monsters, fair princes…happily ever after? White rabbits with little watches and disappearing cats?"   
He didn't look surprised, he made it a point not to be surprised, so instead he laughed, "Of course not. Those are stories."   
"Of course." The redhead smiled down at him, looking very much amused. "You do look very much like someone I once knew. Shorter, though. Not quite as athletically built…" And the man smiled again, stroked his cheek. "Very much like him, in fact."   
He got brave, "An ex-lover?"   
The redhead laughed, "You can say that…he was, my prince, in a way."   
"He saved you?"   
And this time the redhead did look very much amused, as though he'd said something incredibly funny. "Yes."   
He laughed nervously, trying to join in and understand what the joke was. But the man with the red hair didn't tell him a thing.   


It really hadn't been much of anything to argue about. In fact, it was a very stupid thing to argue about. It really should be enough that he was actually with Crawford. It really should be enough that he got to stay by him, every day. And it wasn't really that he felt he'd die without Crawford at his side, and it wasn't really that his world revolved around Crawford. No, Crawford wasn't the only thing that defined his life. But Crawford was also more than just a passing phase, more than just someone he'd screw then throw away. They'd developed a friendship, in their years together. They'd developed a life. And although he didn't feel he'd die without Crawford, he certainly had no idea how to live without him. 

_"So, I suppose you like fairytales."   
"I suppose I do." And the stranger looked at him, touched him again. "Why don't you come with me?"   
"I don't know your name."   
"And I don't know yours," the smile skewed to one side. "So why don't we be whoever, tonight."   
"I don't do that sort of thing.."   
"How nice."   
But he followed anyways. Feeling drawn to follow, as though he were falling down a rabbit hole, tumbling after this stranger, compelled.   
They went to a motel, which the man said he had a room at.   
He felt almost unconscious, half the time, barely awake enough to enjoy himself.   
_

What the hell had he been thinking? To throw his life away, just like that? What he had with Crawford was comfortable. Just because he felt lonely sometimes... When he knew he really shouldn't... just because there were times, when they were having sex, that he actually wanted to cry... because, he loved Crawford so much.... __

It was excellent sex, almost frighteningly good. He jerked his arms against the binds on his wrists, heard the headboard pull away from the wall a fraction and then fall back. Swallowed by an endless, seamless velveteen spell, a till then unknown magic he'd never even imagined before. Everything he'd ever wanted, given to him before he was even going to ask.   
This was the magic of the stranger, he knew it. This was some sort of gift. And when he arched and let out a nonsensical cry, he felt lips at his ear, "God, Bradley, I love you so much…"   
He didn't ask.   
He decided that if this stranger was fantasizing about someone else, then it was fine by him.   
Let him dream of princes.   
There was a soft, arrogant laugh at his ear. "You are so kind."   
And there was a light thumb at his throat.   
"Bradley…"   


Schuldich closed his eyes. 

He shrugged at himself, went to sit on the bed. He'd only had two or three little "attacks" -- and he'd dealt with them just fine. The world had only tried to crush him for a little while. He'd survived, proving to himself that he didn't actually need Crawford to live through one of those things. 

He'd simply gotten used to being guided, handled when that was happening. He was used to having someone tell him, specifically, what he had to do to end it. Crawford only smoothed out the wrinkles, made it easier to re-affirm who he was again. 

But he missed them, and although he wasn't shaking and weeping from the loneliness, he had to admit that he was. He felt that without Crawford, his world was actually quite a bit less. 

Good things to know. __

"Brad…"   
It was getting painful now.   
And he said so.   
"Shut up." The stranger growled.   
He started to open his mouth, and say something else, when the thumb at his throat started to tighten.   
"Just be quiet." It was like a snarl now. The stranger transforming in front of him.   
Gallant to Monstrous.   
"Why won't you shut up?"   
And the redhead's eyes were no longer filled with lust and amusement.   
They were now filled with anger.   
Harsh and ferocious.   
Violent.   
And then it went from bad to worse.   
They went cold.   


Schuldich was rather bored. He lounged back into his bed, and considered the ceiling. There was a dark, tea-like stain near one of the sprinklers. He examined it, and declared that it resembled a blood stain, although he knew that it was probably from the sprinkler. Some minor incident, a lit cigarette perhaps, a small wastebasket fire, had probably caused it to go off, and discolored a part of the ceiling. 

Civilian life was absolutely boring. 

There was nothing to do. Nothing to distract him, interest him, offer him any unique pleasures. He'd considered doing drugs before he declared it too idiotic. There was no thrill to it all, no driving force. The world seemed to be a rather bland place to live. 

He nearly got hit by a car, on his second day out. But as the car came to a sharp halt, and Schuldich considered it, he found he was simply unimpressed. 

He clubbed. Sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the shorter, dark haired Japanese people, he picked up men and women. They were all fine. Attractive, the lot of them. But certainly not interesting. 

Bland. Boring. Banal. No matter how many times he changed the definition it all added to the same thing. 

He inhaled some smoke from his cigarette, gazed off in the distance. There was one window right now, which over looked the parking lot. It was grey, and tiny. A truly rich establishment, to afford such a parking lot. He knocked his ash into the ashtray, and stared at it. Rental cars lined up, side by side, looking brand new and beautiful, next to the shabby looking trees. 

Bored. 

There seemed to be absolutely nothing to do on the "outside" world. 

He rolled his head, and considered the man who had shared his bed. 

_Schuldich tightened his grip on the man's throat.   
Double assault.   
Mind and fist.   
Why   
Won't   
You   
Be   
Quiet???   
  
And when the man had stopped thinking, Schuldich stopped killing.   
_

The blood that soaked the white sheets was starting to turn brown, matching the stain on the ceiling. Black eyes had no focus, lost in some far away place. His hair was mussed, and there was a dark, dark bruise at his throat - a bruise nearly as dark as his eyes. Four small stab wounds on his chest. 

Schuldich pulled out a pack of cigarettes, and knocked one out, lit it with the butt of his old cigarette. He sighed, mashed out his old cigarette and rested his chin on his palm. "Well. I wonder how I'm going to get rid of you." He said, his voice was still filled with amusement. Really, this had to be the most interesting thing to have happened to him since he'd left. 

Boring, the lot of it. 

There didn't seem to be a point to this type of existence. 

Schuldich rather wished he could go home.   
  
  
  


Schuldich walked up to the rent-a-house. He didn't pause to wonder why the front door swung open so easily, when Crawford always insisted that they insure it was locked. So he opened the front door, walked right in. The dingy brown carpet with the worn spots, the old old furniture, and a certain silence that didn't seem natural. Schuldich paused, and reached with his telepathy, and when he found nothing, he closed his eyes and smiled a small chagrined smile, and he laughed a little to himself. 

Of course, the house was empty. What else did he expect of Crawford? Happily ever after?   
  


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	7. Prince Adolph, On File

**Détente: Chapter Seven: Prince Adolph, On File**   
  


It was a dark place, wherever he was at. 

They'd caught him, sitting in the hotel room. Drawn to him by the smell, like flies. He hadn't bothered to fight, he hadn't bothered to do anything. He just sat there while they arrested him. He was still as they pinned his arms to his back, secured him. He just stared in front of himself, amazed at the sight of black hair and blood. 

There had been one point, one brief moment that made him rock back in horror, when he thought that the knife he was using to kill the man in front of him was actually sinking into his own flesh. He thought, briefly, that he was accidentally attempting suicide again. 

His left arm had a ghost ache, by the time he was done. 

And he couldn't stop thinking about Crawford, and how much he wished Crawford loved him back. 

He could have easily found Crawford and Nagi and Farfarello. That wouldn't have been a problem at all. 

But they'd left him. 

And that changed everything. 

And he smiled, but not with amusement, only out of reflex. 

He wasn't bothering with movement, right now. The city was slowly pressing down on him, slowly making him insane. And he missed Crawford so much he felt he'd die. 

He closed his eyes every few minutes and told himself, "I don't need him." 

But every time he said it, it seemed to only confirm that he did. 

He simply didn't feel like running away. It didn't matter, anyways.   
  


Killing two people wasn't a big deal anymore. There was no press, no stories in the newspaper, no snippets on the daily news. He was just some crazy guy who killed two homosexuals. 

They'd taken his clothes away. Searched his body. They gave him a suit of loose cotton, strikingly different from anything a person could possibly wear in public. It made him stand out. If he did escape, anyone could look at him and know he'd run away from someplace official, even if they'd never seen a prison uniform. After the trial, they'd probably cut his hair, he guessed. 

He hated the cotton prison suit. All the clothes he's had since Schwarz were tailor made for his long frame, and this suit barely reached his ankles, and was too loose. In order to cover most of him up, they'd given him a suit for someone much fatter than he actually was. But since the whole of Japan was generally shorter than him, it simply didn't fit. And the cotton was cheap, and paper smooth against him.   
  
  


What they had turned into a big deal was his identity, his nationality. He spoke Japanese perfectly, but he spoke German, English, Spanish, and a few other languages without inflection. They couldn't find records, they couldn't find documents, they searched every records room they could. They had yet to take blood tests, swab DNA samples from his mouth, but the thumb prints were taken right away. 

Nothing, no ideas, but they all figured it was only a matter of time before they knew who he really was. 

When they asked him his name, he changed it every time. That amused him. They asked him his name so much, he started to have trouble inventing new names. He touched the minds of everyone in the building, at least once. Found the ones in power, made the tapes of him conveniently vanish, erase, or focus on the wrong person. 

"Snow White." 

"That's a storybook name." 

He made a gesture with his hand. 

The man with the very thin wire frame glasses frowned at him, glowered, and attempted to be polite. This whole damn country was so polite. "So, sir. I ask you once again, what is your name?" 

Schuldich closed his eyes and smiled at the ceiling, "I told you, my name is Hatter, Mad." 

The official that made eye contact with him wasn't amused at all. A sharp and aggravated sigh, and the man pushed his glasses up his nose and frowned at him. "I'll ask you one more time, and then I'm just going to be done asking." 

"Okay, I admit it, my name is Prince Adolph." 

And that was it, the man sat up and his mouth came to form a very flat line, and he was frustrated at his glib nature and disgusted at his crimes. "Well, I suppose I'll just write down anything." And he started to write. "You'll get life anyways." 

"Well then, I suppose all I am is guilty." And he laughed, comfortably.   
  
  


He'd never officially existed, before. The idea that he was filed away somewhere, it disoriented him. 

When they'd taken the mug shot, he was bothered. He'd only had his picture taken a few times in his entire life, and that was usually to create a fake life. 

He had no cellmate. The room was very small. It was night, it had to be. It was night, and Schuldich felt lost. The hum of a building full of voices kept him company. A million electric bees. 

Fancy that, he thought to himself, a few of them are actually innocent. 

A door opened down the hallway, sent a stream of fake light in, hurt Schuldich's eyes. Footsteps were heard, and as Schuldich listened, he realized that the steps he was hearing were simply too long to be Japanese. He'd never met a Japanese man that tall. And then he became aware of the footsteps of two other people, heard the thoughts of the escorts, the entourage following. Like a fairytale, from old times, walking very briskly down the hall, he could feel the empty space in the hive around him. 

A silent prince. 

Schuldich closed his eyes and smiled.   
  
  


When the cell door slid open with a warning sound, and Crawford stepped in, Schuldich was looking at him with half slit eyes. 

"Good evening, I'm here to take a blood sample." 

"Are we going to play doctor?" He smiled sweetly, and didn't bother to sit up in his cot. 

Crawford was wearing the traditional white of a doctor, long coat, case. Flanking him were two security guards. One was thinking about how Schuldich better behave, or he was going to have his pretty teeth broken in. The other was hardly paying any attention at all. 

"Sit up please." 

"Roll over, beg. Come on Fido, you can do it." And Schuldich showed the guard his pretty teeth, baring them just a little bit. 

Crawford's eyes didn't move in amusement, either. He was doing a very good job at seeming to be a very normal man. A mild mannered doctor. Smooth black hair, little sliver rimmed eyeglasses, dusty creased dress shoes. Schuldich wondered how much it pained Crawford to wear shoes that old. 

But he sat up, held out his left arm. "Take my blood, then." 

Crawford set down a case on the floor, opened it and pulled out the hypodermic, and a rubber cord. He placed the hypodermic where he could reach it, and held out his hand expectantly. Looked up at Schuldich first with his eyes, then the rest of his face. Crawford's hand closed around his left wrist, and a finger gently smoothed across the scar there. A little too gently, almost a caress. Schuldich wanted to put his arms around Crawford, wanted to be taken away from this place. 

"Better use the right arm." 

And Crawford took his right arm, tied the cord around his arm, tightly, waited for the blood to store up to be drawn. The cell was incredibly silent. 

"Is it normal, to draw blood at night?" 

"I had better things to do, then come and draw blood from a murderer." 

The guards behind Crawford smirked. 

When Doctor Crawford deemed it the right time to draw blood, he pressed the needle to the skin, and drew the blood out. He watched his blood enter the chamber, rhythmically, one hard pulse, one softer. 

Then Doctor Crawford made eye contact with him, a cordial smile at his lips. "Have a good evening." 

And he left. 

Simple as sin, he was gone, and Schuldich reclined in his cot. He wondered what was going to happen next, now that he knew that Crawford knew he was here.   
  
  
  


At twenty-two hundred hours, at ten o'clock p.m., the nameless murderer had a heart attack. 

The best way to make a person disappear is to kill them.   
  
  
  


He woke up gasping for breath in the back seat of the car. His lungs felt as though they'd been completely emptied. His mouth was full of a taste he absolutely hated, he wanted to gag, and he couldn't focus his eyes as perfectly as he was used to. 

"Sssh, calm down." A deep bass voice. A hand at his cheek. 

Schuldich was disoriented. 

"What happened?" He managed to say, and his tongue felt dry. 

"I killed you." 

And Schuldich realized that Crawford was not driving the car, Nagi was. He wondered vaguely if Crawford ever drove the car. 

He became aware of Farfarello's yellow eye, the pink scars on his face, the way he tilted and stared, transfixed. "Were you in hell?" 

"No." 

"God must have a sense of humor." 

He fell asleep again.   
  


* * *

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	8. Tension, Obligation

**Détente: Chapter Eight: Tension, Obligation**   
  


He was touching Schuldich's orange-red hair. He was rather pleased that he'd gotten there before the judicial barber - or whatever the hell he was called - had gotten around to cutting it all off. Schuldich may look good with short hair, but Crawford preferred it at the length he kept it at normally. Long enough to enjoy. Schuldich hadn't been in jail for very long, a day at most. Just long enough to make a point. 

But he'd been away from Schwarz for a month. 

One very long month, during which Crawford had went a little stir crazy. 

Crawford hadn't slept since he put Schuldich in their bed. He sat there, examining him. There were bruises on Schuldich's face. Crawford made a mental note to ask him about those later. Whoever had bruised Schuldich wouldn't go without a little payback. 

No one touched Schuldich. 

Schuldich was his.   
  
  


When he woke up, he was "home". The bedroom was very clean, of course. It smelled clean, the ceiling had no stains. 

Crawford was right in front of him, looking him the eye. Concern was on his face. "How do you feel?" 

Concern was a strange thing to see on Crawford's face. "Tired." He wanted to fall back asleep. 

"Understandable." And Crawford leaned back in his chair, away from him. 

It got very quiet, then, very quickly. The two of them uncertain of what they were supposed to say in a situation like this. 

"Well, shit." Schuldich sat up. "Now what?" He felt a little groggy. Whatever Crawford had given him made him feel a little hung over. 

Crawford smiled and looked down. "Depends." 

"On?" 

"You." 

"Oh." He leaned back against the headboard. "The difference between staying alive and a bullet in the head, I guess. Unless Nagi decides to get in the way again. He thinks we're in love. Of course what he doesn't know is only I am." 

Crawford got up, sat on the bed next to him. He put a hand on Schuldich's shoulder, leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. "I think you're going to stay." 

"Well, I enjoy being alive." With you. He put his arms around Crawford's shoulders. 

"Most people do." 

Crawford laid down next to him, bracing his back against the headboard as well. Schuldich turned and leaned against him, put an arm around Crawford's waist and put his head on his shoulder. Crawford kissed his forehead lightly. It felt good to be held again.   
  


Crawford grasped Schuldich's left arm, ran his thumb over the scar there. It was wonderfully pale, diamond shaped. He could still see the faint scars at each side, marks left from when they'd sealed his arm shut after they'd stopped the bleeding. He remembered being glad Schuldich hadn't injured his strong arm. He paid a lot of money to ensure that the arm was saved. 

He drew the arm up, kissed it. 

"Do you realize, it's been a month and three days since we last had sex?" Crawford said almost casually. 

"Yeah." Schuldich pulled closer to him. "Do-" 

"No. Later, tonight. Not now." Schuldich needed his rest. 

"Everything's on a schedule for you." 

"Go back to sleep." 

"Yes, sir." Schuldich tried to roll away from him, sleep on the other side of the bed, but Crawford wouldn't loosen his grip. Schuldich gave up resisting right away. 

They were quiet again. Schuldich was pretending to sleep. Crawford knew he wasn't asleep. Neither of them moving away from each other. The two of them overly contemplative.   
  
  
  


It was now obvious to Schuldich exactly what he was worth. 

He was a body. 

He was a fighter. 

He was not a lover. 

And now, more than ever, it was fine by him. 

He'd finally accepted it.   
  
  


They didn't quite resume business as usual. Crawford put off looking for work for them. He decided that the team was simply too unstable to be working. 

For a few days, Schuldich had been acting defeated. Quietly sitting around their house, watching tv, ignoring everyone, crawling back into bed with him at night. And then there was the random clutching, the way Schuldich just reached at him, grasped him as though he'd vanish. Always sudden, just a shade desperate - just seeming to want contact. 

Crawford almost liked it - he preferred Schuldich grasping at him to staring at the television. And after a month without him, Crawford didn't mind him being close at all.   
  
  


And then Schuldich vanished. Three days of Schuldich simply not being there. Crawford had been surprised. He hadn't bothered to check the future, so when it happened so suddenly he was ready to yell at people. He despised being taken by surprise. 

And just as suddenly, Schuldich came back. 

The first three days was the beginning of a string of sudden disappearances by Schuldich, as random and unpredictable as Schuldich himself was becoming. It seemed to be completely without rhythm, completely without logic. He'd just go away. Crawford tried to predict it at first, but because it was so random and without reason, he found that he couldn't quite pin down the exact time. 

So usually, he only knew Schuldich was going to go away a few minutes before he actually did.   
  
  


And he was gone for the fourth time, now. 

Schuldich had told Crawford that he was going out for cigarettes. And Crawford had known he was going away again just as he was pulling the car out of the driveway. It was too late to stop him. 

Crawford watched the black car pull away. He wondered where Schuldich went. He wondered why he wasn't yelling at Schuldich. He wondered if this time Schuldich was simply not going to come back. 

He made himself a drink, sat down on his office couch, and sighed. 

Put simply, this shouldn't be effecting him all that much. 

But it was.   
  
  
  


He woke up in the morning to an empty bed. 

He ate breakfast alone. 

He turned on the news. 

He didn't watch it. 

He read a book. 

It took him three hours to turn the page. 

He tried looking at a few jobs that the three of them might take. But the team was used to having four, and without radio equipment they'd have trouble communicating. The team chemistry was ruined. They were losing money. 

It was all very quiet in the house. Nagi listened to his music on headphones. Farfarello's cell was soundproofed. The house creaked and groaned by itself, for hours at night. During the day, most of his thoughts had to do with the next instant. And every now and then, he thought about Schuldich. 

He thought about Schuldich a lot more than he should.   
  
  
  


Two days later, Schuldich walked in the front door. He hung up his jacket, put the car keys on the little pegs above the coat hooks. He kicked off his shoes and sat down on the couch. 

Crawford didn't look up from his newspaper. Schuldich immediately stole the remote control and changed the channel. 

And neither of them said a word. 

He left it on a movie, and turned up the volume. 

"Turn that down." Crawford said from behind the paper. 

Schuldich turned it up. 

Crawford dropped the paper just a little and looked at him. Schuldich looked rather sulkily back at him. Schuldich raised the remote control, and rather theatrically turned it up just a little. 

"Turn that the fuck down." 

"Fuck you, I can do what I want to do." 

Crawford lowered the newspaper, looked him directly in the eye. Schuldich looked back at him. They sat there and glared at each other for a while. Crawford snapped the newspaper closed, and set it to one side, turned to face him properly. "No, you can't." 

"Yes, I can." 

"Your place is here." 

"I came back, didn't I?" 

"God damnit, Schuldich." 

"What?" Schuldich nearly shouted. "I go away, I come back. What's the big fucking deal?" 

Crawford got up and left the room. 

That night, Schuldich came to bed well after Crawford did. Crawford could hear him getting undressed, could hear the clothes land casually on the floor. He felt the way the bed shifted under his weight, as he crawled under the blankets. They both lay there for a moment, on their backs and staring up at the ceiling. The light was bad in the room, all of them having been turned out for the night. Schuldich reached out towards him, ran a hand across his belly. (One small moment, one small ache, he wanted to turn and wrap his arms around Schuldich, pull him tight and close, a moment quickly killed) Crawford didn't respond to the touch at all. "Go to sleep." And Schuldich rolled away. 

They didn't touch each other after that, and neither slept well.   
  
  


He wasn't bing treated as though he were needed anymore. When Schuldich climbed into bed with him, it was for sleep or sex. For a relationship that was supposed to be based on sex, it shouldn't matter one damn bit. He felt like an obligation. All they did was argue. The logic of the situation was inescapable. 

Crawford missed him.   
  
  
  


Another night, Schuldich came home late at night after having been gone for only one day, he undressed, and crawled under the blankets. Schuldich made no move to touch Crawford, and Crawford made no move to touch Schuldich. 

"What do you do when you're gone." Crawford said in the dark. 

Schuldich was not surprised Crawford was awake. "Things." 

"You seeing someone else." He hated asking questions, he asked everything as flatly as he could. 

"A few others." Schuldich put his arms behind his head. Arched his back. 

Crawford closed his eyes. (Schuldich's hair being touched by someone else)   
Crawford bit back jealousy. (Schuldich laughing with someone else)   
He exhaled one controlled breath. (Schuldich giving a stranger everything that was rightfully his)   
He opened his eyes, and evenly said:   


"Just don't kill them."   
  


* * *

_www.contrary-perfection.net_


	9. Detente, Chapter Last

This one in his bed, was too short. His eyes didn't have the sheen of someone who knew their own worth. He was too full of self-doubt. He was too safe. 

And this new one, he was too slim, completely lacking all the athletic grace of a person who trained for three hours a day to maintain a perfect physique. 

This one, was too dark. Dusky skin, black eyes, black hair. He preferred a fairer skin tone, creamy and delicious to taste and touch, stretched over muscle. 

And this one, was too dull. He wasn't very smart, and didn't have a sense of humor. 

She, was female. He liked men better. 

She, had low self-esteem, and kept trying to cover herself up with the sheets. She had no sense of humor, and everything she said was soft, as if he were about to yell at her - as if yelling was all she heard all her life. 

And she, was greedy in an amusing way, but her price was far too low. She was far too delicate for his tastes, too pliant and soft. 

She had a temper, which he liked, but it seemed to be ungrounded in logic, pointless and vague. 

He tried them all on, for size. One at a time, a new one slipping between the sheets with him. Each one was measured, weighed, and found lacking. And every time, after they had sex, Crawford would lay back and think to himself, that sex has never actually been disappointing to him before. 

A warm, receptive body in bed. Arching backs and muscle. Enough. It should be enough. The sheets that were white, the dusky light and the strange angles of the room. It should be enough. The strangeness should be alluring, should be erotic. The fantasies should be part of the fun. Anyone he wants in bed, right? If it's just sex, then anyone should do. 

She hunched a little, she was a demure little thing, a little nervous, a little gun shy around him. She was acting as if he were about to attack her, all the time. And maybe he might, if she kept that up. 

"Did you like it?" 

"No." 

"Oh…" And she cast her eyes away. "I'm sorry, I-" 

"I don't care." 

"Is there anything I can do?" She looked nervous. "I mean, I could -" 

"I don't care." He said slowly, just so she'd understand, her need to please him starting to anger him. He got up to shower, feeling completely dissatisfied. And for every little diminutive move she made, he felt more dissatisfied. He was very relieved when he immerged from the bathroom to see she'd left. 

He slicked back his wet hair, walked over to the bed and contemplated for a moment. Logic had always been his strong point, the ability to reduce the situation to variables, create plans, set them in motion, ensure that they were successful. 

This situation had more variables than he would like. 

For instance, it involved emotion, emotion was fickle as all hell and unpredictable even at the best of times. Also, there was the fact that it involved his emotions. The odd fact that he hated this situation completely… that he wanted the correct person back in his bed. The odd fact that it wasn't even really Schuldich's body he missed, although that was a part of it. It was laughing, it was having Schuldich just hover around him making his smart-ass comments, it was having Schuldich physically close and comfortable. It was… having an equal around. 

Crawford looked for his cigarettes, lit one and sighed. 

So, he supposed, it actually didn't require all that much logic to solve this problem. It was perfectly obvious. He made a decision, and acted on it. He looked at the phone for a moment, debated his next move. He pulled out the phone book from the dingy night table, looked up the necessary phone number, and dialed it. 

A few frustrating minutes on the phone reserving the room, giving credit card information, exercising patience, and his plans were set.   
  
  
  


He walked in the front door. Lounging there, in beautiful arrogance, was what he knew he really wanted: red hair, fair skin, acrobat's build, perfectly dangerous. 

"Schuldich." 

Schuldich lifted his eyes up to meet Crawford's. "What?" 

He knelt down, next to Schuldich at the couch, caught Schuldich's wrist and drew it up to his lips. He felt the smooth scar, lightly, letting his lips drift in a circle. 

Schuldich's face, for a moment, was like it used to be - open, and only to him. It shuttered. "Haven't had enough for today?" 

Crawford's hair was still wet. "Not nearly enough." And he leaned down and kissed Schuldich on the lips. It felt good, and Schuldich looked dubious for a moment before looping his arms around Crawford's neck and smiling up at him. 

"Get ready." Crawford said. 

"I'm always ready." 

"To go out." 

"Out?" 

"Yeah, out." He had to smile a little, it was amusing. How dubious Schuldich looked, when he said that. 

"'Out,'" Schuldich asked back at him, "What do you mean, 'out'?" 

Crawford grinned at him, "I mean out. Get up, get ready, we're going out." 

"No." 

"I made reservations already, I'm not going to just not go. If you don't want to change you don't have to." Crawford plucked at his dirty t-shirt, "But this wouldn't be terribly appropriate." 

Schuldich sat up, raked his hair back and tiled his chin. "So what would be appropriate?" He asked, drawn mostly by curiosity. 

Crawford sat back, got up, and started to walk away, "Something nice." 

Schuldich paused, shrugged his shoulders, and went to go change. 'Something nice' was vague enough. 

They fought over who got to drive. Crawford won through logic, "You don't know where I'm taking you." 

"Well, you'll just have to tell me." 

"Just let me drive for a god damn change of pace, then." 

"Irritable." Schuldich muttered, and climbed into the passenger side. They climbed into the car silently. They never played music - it usually caused too many fights. "I like driving." And he leaned back and lit a cigarette. 

"You've been smoking too much." 

"No, I haven't." 

"Yes, you have. I don't want you wheezing on the field." 

"Oh, with all the jobs we've been having lately, I can see what you mean." They haven't had any jobs since Schuldich came back from jail. A sharp exhale to punctuate the sentence. "I'm so out of shape." And then he cracked his neck. 

Practice told Crawford that the best way to make sure that this did not turn into an argument, was to just not talk about it. So he didn't answer. 

Schuldich had chosen a simple outfit, wore his favorite black leather jacket. He leaned back in the leather bucket seat, looked at the ceiling of the car. "So, where we going?" he asked in the air. 

"It's a surprise." 

"'Surprise.'" Schuldich muttered. "Pleasant surprise, I hope." Casually, with all gall of someone who didn't quite care anymore, "Not 'bullet in the head' surprise or 'hey, I got someone new' surprise." He drew the cigarette away, let out a puff again, "Or, 'I've sold you into slavery' surprise. Or 'I'm really straight" surprise." Another inhale, another exhale. "'Hey, Schuldich, I signed you up for a sex change.'" 

"Schuldich." He put just enough warning into his voice. 

"What?" 

"It's a pleasant surprise." 

"Huh." He sat up, and knocked some ash into the car's ashtray and leaned back again. It was a nice car. But of course, they had expensive tastes in everything. Rich clothing, rich food, cars they went through by the handful, selling them off and getting new ones as the whim hit them. They'd had this one for almost a year, which was quite unusual for them. But it was comfortable, and luxuriant, and it drove down the road swiftly and smoothly, like silk thread through a needle. 

Enough quiet later, Crawford sighed, "Give me one of those." 

Schuldich arched an eyebrow, and lit a cigarette for him. He leaned forward, and put it between Crawford's lips. "Stressed?" 

"No." 

"Of course not." Schuldich's voice was bitter for just a moment, and then he leaned back in his chair again. "I hate the passenger side. Nothing to do but smoke and yell at the other drivers." 

"We're almost there." 

"And where is 'there'?" 

"You'll see." 

"Pleasant." He said at Crawford, he found it more and more doubtful. 

"Yes, pleasant." 

"You're sure." 

"Of course I am." 

"Of course you are." Schuldich leaned back again, stretched. "And you're always right." 

"Not always." 

"That's new." 

"But definitely most of the time." 

"Christ, you're so arrogant." 

"So are you." 

Schuldich smiled and smoked. He had to admit, he was having fun already. 

They arrived at the hotel room at the expected time. Checking in was quick, with all his information already on file. The room keys were simply handed to them, and they walked to the elevator. Schuldich spent a moment amused at the concierge, who found it mildly shocking that he'd reserved a hotel room for two men. Two minutes to the elevator, four minutes up to the floor the room was at. Voluptuous interior, splashed with pearl light, and gold wood walls, lacquered and shining. It was not a hotel of modern sophisticated beauty, it reveled in that old world feel, that sort of decadence that was so common then. They entered the room, took in it's sprawling accommodations, and Schuldich whistled appreciatively. It was a rich room, exactly suited to their tastes. A plush, cream-colored carpet, a tv, living room furniture, a sprawling bedroom, even a jacuzzi. "Wow. Now I feel like a high priced whore, instead of just a budget whore." 

Schuldich slid up to Crawford, put his arms around Crawford's waist and kissed him. They swayed for a moment in the kiss, and Schuldich tilted his head to kiss Crawford's neck, and began to sink to his knees. 

"Stop that." Crawford pulled him up and pushed him a little away. 

He hissed in frustration. "Fine." And he turned to walk away. 

Crawford caught his arm and drew him close. "Have a drink with me." 

Schuldich allowed himself a moment to feel miffed. But after weighing in the fact that Crawford had reserved the hotel room and paid for it in advance, decided that he wouldn't be pissed off quite yet. "…. Alright." And he followed. 

Crawford mixed a drink for him, gin and tonic. And Schuldich spun in a circle in the room just to get a feel for where everything is. "Nice here." He muttered vaguely and then sipped his drink again. 

"I thought you'd like it." 

"Lots of people here." Schuldich shrugged. "I think I'd have preferred to stay at home." 

"Just because of the people." Crawford was making himself a drink, "You'd ditch the whole hotel?" 

"Just because of the people, I'd set it on fire." 

Crawford smiled just a little bit. "For someone so charming, you're very antisocial." 

"Thank you." 

They spent the evening in the room, drinking together. An hour of drinking liquor and talking, forty minutes of necking after that. Schuldich kept on sliding his hands over Crawford as if to take it further, take off his clothes, take him to bed. Crawford seemed to always stop him just as it started to get good. Half an hour in the hot tub, trading kisses and sips. They ordered dessert and fought over who got to eat what, before they wound up sharing. 

"We fight a lot." Schuldich stated, half way through the crème burlé - he stopped and held out a spoon for Crawford to eat. He smiled a little half smile, playfully baiting Crawford. He knew this made Crawford feel awkward. 

"We do." Crawford agreed evenly, leaned forwards and ate the scoop from the spoon. They made eye contact over it, and Schuldich bit his lower lip to try and force some of the smile down, made a half attempt to hide how amused he was. 

"Nagi thinks we have an 'Italian romance'." 

Crawford only raised his eyebrows once, "Oh?" 

"Yeah. He thinks we fight to make up." 

Crawford made no comment, but drew Schuldich close again and kissed his throat. Schuldich leaned into it, enjoyed the skin contact. "Making up isn't fun at all." Crawford said into his shoulder. 

"I know. But after that part is done, the sex is pretty damn good." 

It was turning out a lot more fun than Schuldich thought it was going to be. They have been at the hotel room now for nearly three hours, and Crawford had made no move to take him to bed yet. Which was a little strange to Schuldich. 

"Don't get drunk on me." Crawford stated, "I want to make full use of this room before we leave it." 

"Sir, yes sir." 

"I hate it when you do that." 

"I know," and Schuldich smiled with some satisfaction. "Make me another drink." 

Crawford only raised his eyebrows at him. "So, now I'm your servant?" 

"Well, I sure as hell am not yours." 

"Why don't you make me a drink?" 

"I'm not into servitude." 

Crawford looked up at him, a light smile at the corner of his lips. 

"Okay, maybe, sometimes, I'm into the fun kind of servitude…" Schuldich grins, "But so are you. Now, make me a drink." 

Crawford got up, and made Schuldich a drink. "You know, I think, perhaps, I should have just killed you when I had the chance." 

"If wishes were fishes," Schuldich kicked back on the couch, "eh, Bradley?" he took the drink from Crawford now, and sipped it, "Besides, without me, you, a) wouldn't have a reliable lay, and b) wouldn't be able to control Farfarello." 

"I don't need you to get laid." Crawford sat down next to him, their bodies were flush together, and Crawford put his arm around Schuldich's shoulders. "And I don't need Farfarello, and I could probably easily control him without you." 

Schuldich tilted his head to one side, looked at Crawford, and then smiled sensuously, "Well, then. I guess I'm screwed." And he leaned forwards, and started to bite at Crawford's neck, daintily. Crawford ran his fingers through Schuldich's hair, kissed the top of his head lightly. 

"Sometimes I swear you have an oral fixation." 

"If you're complaining -" 

"I'm not." 

"I'm actually having fun." Schuldich said, kissed his throat again. 

"Me, too." And Crawford forced Schuldich to look up, so that he could kiss Schuldich on the lips. Schuldich slipped him some tongue, and smiled against him. 

"I think it's the booze." Schuldich said with a smile. "I think, if we were more sober, we wouldn't be touching." 

"You are drunker than I think you should be." 

"Right, I care." And Schuldich started to suck and bite at Crawford's neck, pushed him down onto the couch. 

"You're going to leave a mark." 

Schuldich stopped long enough to respond, "Good." They stayed that way, with Crawford on his back and Schuldich sucking on his neck, for a few minutes before Crawford pushed him off. 

"What?" Schuldich sounded annoyed. 

"Let's save that for later." 

Schuldich pulled away from him, looking pissed. "What do you mean, save it for later? We've been here for three hours, Brad. It's a hotel room. You rent rooms like this to fuck in." 

Crawford gripped Schuldich's shoulder, started to calm him down. Schuldich smacked his hand away. "Don't try and soothe me like I'm a god damn horse." 

"Calm down -" 

"So fucking condescending, will you ever stop treating me like I'm some kind of woman?" 

"Schuldich." 

"No, god damnit, Brad. I am not your bitch." 

"Schuldich." He stressed his words, he shook Schuldich a little. "I just want to have fun here, like you." He leaned forwards, kissed Schuldich roughly, and pulled back, "You aren't having fun anymore?" 

Schuldich was glaring at him. 

Crawford stroked him, his hair, kissed him again. "Alright, let's go to bed then." 

"Appeasement tactics." Schuldich stated. But he followed, anyways. 

At 1:40AM, Crawford took him to the bedroom and they started to kiss. 

Schuldich started to undo Crawford's shirt, unbuttoning the small buttons and nudging aside the dense, expensive cloth as he went down. Crawford threw aside the blankets, pushed Schuldich back onto the bed, finding a spot on Schuldich's neck that he liked. They fell into a more familiar sexual play, something they were used to, something that made them laugh and shudder. And it felt good, and it was familiar, and for the mean time, they both of them forgot they were arguing. Schuldich was just a little drunk, now, but that just made him more relaxed, made it all the more enjoyable. He ran a hand across the flat of Crawford's stomach, "You're gorgeous." Schuldich whispered at him. 

"So are you." Crawford made a fist in Schuldich's hair, kissed his jaw lightly. 

He touched the small of Schuldich's back lightly, light pressure with the palm of his hand. He drew the backs of his fingernails across Schuldich's skin, pressed kisses to Schuldich's inner thigh. One measured touch, a stroke upwards from Schuldich's thigh to his armpit. They smiled when they kissed. Schuldich felt wonderful so long as he just enjoyed the touching, felt wonderful so long as he didn't think of anything beyond that exact moment. Twining nude limbs around nude limbs, Schuldich sighed, the corners of his lips were upturned, he nuzzled the curve of Crawford's neck. Schuldich arched his back, pressed his front to Crawford's body as he slid his fingers in. "Ah, that's good." He laughed comfortably, kissed Crawford's face. 

Crawford kissed back, rubbed his cheek against Schuldich's. They spent a moment like that, Crawford rubbing inside him and Schuldich just pressed against him, before Crawford pressed his lips against Schuldich's ear and asked simply, "How many?" 

"Hm?" Schuldich smiled again, wrapped his arms around Crawford. "How many what?" 

Crawford examined Schuldich's face, pressed just a little harder inside him, "How many others?" 

Schuldich immediately stopped having fun. "Does it matter?" 

Crawford pulled away from him. "Yes, I think it does." 

"Well, it doesn't." 

"How many?" 

Schuldich looked up at him for a moment, trying to interpret what was going on. Then Schuldich laughed once, reached to touch him, "Oh, come on, Brad. Stop it." 

"No, I mean it. How many others?" he pushed Schuldich's hands away. 

Schuldich sat up and looked him in the eye. "I don't get it. Why ask?" 

"Just answer." 

Schuldich lost all amusement, now, and even started to feel slighted, angry. He'd been stupid enough to actually have fun. He should have known that there was something else going on. "Three." He picked a number at random. 

"Three." Crawford's voice was measured, he reached out and laid a hand on Schuldich's chest. "Three people touched you here…" and he kissed the place where his hand was. And then it became a blur again. "And here…" another kiss. He was allowing himself to be possessive, touching and reclaiming everything. Nothing rough, nothing that would spoil the mood. 

"You're acting strange today." And Schuldich kissed him again. Because it felt good, because Crawford wasn't yelling or being mad at him, because everything still felt friendly, he started to enjoy himself again. 

"Three. You're sure it's three? You left more times than that, wasn't there a new one every time?" 

They were bodies twisting together in shadow, warm and comfortable lovers. The words Crawford was speaking barely made sense. Schuldich pressed the palm of his hand on Crawford's back, drew him closer, not wanting to let go of the heat. "Yeah. None of them were anywhere near as good as you…" 

"So why'd you leave?" and he pressed his lips to the crook of Schuldich's arm. 

Schuldich laughed, rolled on top of Crawford, and braced his arms on either side of Crawford's head. "Because…" and he kissed Crawford, "…I" and he kissed Crawford again, "Couldn't…." Kiss, "…stand you." 

Crawford smiled up at him, "Really, now?" He put his arms around Schuldich's waist. 

"Yeah. Really, now." 

They rolled over, so Crawford was on top of him. "Why, is that?" and he reached for the nightstand. 

Schuldich liked feeling Crawford's weight on top of him. "Because." 

"'Because'? That's the best explanation you're going to give me?" 

Schuldich blinked when he felt something soft at his cheek. He smelled something sweet. Schuldich was surprised, "Roses." 

"Roses." Crawford agreed. 

"You were never one to like flowers." 

"Italian relationship. We love to make up." 

Schuldich pressed at Crawford's shoulders, sat up and looked confused at his shadow in the dark. "What's going on?" 

Crawford didn't say anything. 

"Why the hell are you treating me like a woman?" 

"What?" 

"Why the hell are you treating me like I'm a god damn woman? Fucking pretty hotel room and dessert and flowers. What's next? Jewelry?" 

"I was trying to be nice, god damnit." 

"Crawford. Never, ever treat me like I'm your bitch." 

"I wasn't treating you like that." 

"Yes, you were." Schuldich hissed, and started to get out of bed. "You were treating me like a woman. Like something you own. You were treating me like -" 

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Schuldich. Can't you for once just shut up and enjoy it?" He grabbed at Schuldich's wrist, jerked him back into bed. 

"Let go of me." Schuldich tried to pull away, but the momentum of being pulled back into the bed was still against him. 

"No." Crawford forced him down so that he was laying on his back. "I paid for this hotel room, I bought the god damn flowers, I talked you into coming here. I fucking planned out this whole thing and you're going to stay here and enjoy it." 

"Go to hell." 

"Schuldich. You're mad at me for being _nice_ to you." 

Schuldich was silent for a moment. "So then, why are you being nice?" Schuldich still sounded pissed off. Schuldich still wanted to be pissed off. "Because I fucking hate it when you're condescending, Brad. It just pisses me off, and I hate it even more when you do it in bed and I'm in the middle of actually having fun." 

"How the hell was - never mind. I don't care. How you managed to get 'condescending' out of flowers and a hotel room, I don't know." 

"So why were you asking about the others?" 

"I wanted to know." 

"But why?" 

Crawford didn't say these kinds of things out loud, Schuldich should know better. 

"Damn it, just for once, tell me." 

"Because you're mine, and I wanted to know how many others had you." 

Anger. "Yours." Schuldich grit his teeth. "Oh, right. Yours, I forgot, I belong to you, right?" 

"Yes, you belong to me." 

"No, I don't, Brad. I don't belong to anyone." 

"You do belong to me." 

"No, I don't." Schuldich wanted to yell and throw things, Schuldich wanted to destroy the hotel room, beat the hell out of Crawford. 

"You belong to me because you're in love with me." 

It was like a kick in the stomach, it felt like Crawford wasn't playing fair. "So." Schuldich's voice lacked conviction, "What if I stopped loving you." And he smiled, his cockiness returning, his arrogance. "What if, I decided, 'Oh, well, that Crawford is a bastard, I can find someone nicer.' What if, I just stopped?" 

"You can't." 

"Yes I can. I can leave you. I can stop loving you." Schuldich felt like laughing. This was hilarious, now. This was god damn wonderful. He's been in love with Crawford longer than he was aware he even knew how to fall in love, and here he was telling Crawford to kindly go fuck himself. None of this made sense. He wanted a drink, he wanted to run, he wanted to make a joke out of the whole thing. 

"Stop saying that." Crawford put a hand on his shoulder. 

"Why not?" Schuldich grinned hugely. "Last time I told you I loved you, you tried to kill me and I ran away from home, remember?" He laughed a little raggedly. "Like a kicked bitch, I ran away from home." 

"Stop using that word to describe yourself. Yes, I remember." Crawford hated this. "I remember, and I missed you when you were gone." 

"What?" Stop lying. 

"I missed you." 

"Shut up." 

"Schuldich-" 

"Stop saying that!" Schuldich got out of bed. "That's it. I can't take it. You're fucking lying to me and I'm leaving." He couldn't find his clothes. He couldn't think quite clearly. All he knew was that he wanted to get the hell out of the room and leave Crawford behind. 

"Schuldich, god damnit, sit down and hear me out." 

"No. Where the fuck did you put my pants?" 

"Schuldich, don't you dare go." 

"I can go if I want to." He found his pants, started to pull them on. Crawford came up behind him, suddenly, grabbing him and forcing him down onto the bed. Crawford grabbed his wrists and pinned them down and they started to fight. 

"Get the hell off of me!" 

"God damnit, calm the hell down." 

"No. Fuck you. Go to hell. Leave me alone." 

Schuldich managed to pull out from underneath Crawford, who actually wasn't holding him down very hard, he pulled his pants on the rest of the way, started to storm out without the rest of his clothing. He wasn't thinking clearly, he didn't care about all that. He just wanted to get away from the confusing lies. There was no way Crawford had missed him, there was no way at all. Crawford did not have emotions. All of this, this was some horrible lie Crawford was constructing. He felt Crawford's hand close around his elbow before he could reach the bedroom door. He felt a wrench in his shoulder joint, as he was pulled back hard. He was pushed up against a wall. He could see Crawford's eyes, now, the outline in the shadow, catching the light. The emotion there was almost frightening. 

"Don't you dare leave" Crawford's voice was almost a whisper. "Don't you dare." 

"I can leave if I want to." Schuldich matched him tone for tone. "I don't have to stay here. I don't have to be with you." 

Crawford's arm was suddenly pressing against Schuldich's throat, pressing down hard as if to collapse his trachea. "Don't," He paused, "don't you dare leave me." 

Schuldich glared at him, Schuldich felt nothing but anger, hate, boiling inside of him. Schuldich didn't understand any of this. He pushed Crawford just enough away so that he could breathe again, and couldn't push the arm away anymore than that. 

"Don't you dare." Crawford whispered. "don't you dare leave me. You can't leave me." And Crawford removed his arm, laced his fingers through Schuldich's hair. "You won't leave me." 

"I'm leaving you." 

"You can't." 

"Yes, I can." And Schuldich started to feel his defenses weaken, started to feel the anger wear off just enough to know he didn't mean what he was saying. "I can leave you whenever I want to." He was starting to hurt all over, he was starting to give in to it. "I can leave you. Why are you doing this? I don't matter to you, Brad. I don't matter to you at all. You don't love me." 

He felt Crawford press closer. He could see Crawford's eyes glinting in the dark. He could feel the heat of breath and skin, he wanted to melt against it. "Schuldich…" 

His own name was going to be his undoing, he could tell already. He knew that Crawford was leaning closer to kiss him. He knew that when they kissed, Crawford was going to win. He knew that he wasn't quite strong enough yet to walk away from something so unexpectedly tender. The inevitability of it made him actually feel just a little afraid. 

Their lips touched. Schuldich's arms went around Crawford's neck, clutching him closer, tighter. He found that he almost wanted to cry. 

They pulled each other roughly towards the bed, each of them trying their best to get Schuldich's pants off before Schuldich got annoyed enough to push his hands away to undo it himself. 

_And this is Crawford having a break down._

Crawford drew away, just enough to talk. "Say it for me." His voice was tight with emotion he didn't like expressing, couldn't contain. 

Schuldich bit his lower lip, closed his eyes, and gave up. "I love you." 

Crawford pressed his forehead to Schuldich's exhaled as if he'd been holding his breath all this time. "And you aren't going to leave me." The way he whispered it, low, breathless, words only meant for Schuldich to hear, words meant for someone who was so close that lips touched skin as they moved to enunciate. 

"I'm not going to leave you." 

Schuldich arched back and let out a sob. It didn't hurt, it wasn't pain, but it was overwhelming. Everything they did was just a little too much. A little too tight, a little too fast, a little too reckless, a little too desperate, a little too hard. Every part of him was touched, grasped hard, kissed, he touched back, he reclaimed as much as he could. Schuldich bit his lip until it bled, and Crawford sucked the bloody cut. He tightened his arms til they were pressed as close as they could get, he whispered so close to Crawford's face, the words became lost inside Crawford's mouth, muted against his lips, his cheek. Schuldich heard himself, at one point, just saying it over and over again, "I love you… love you… love you…" and he was aware that he was crying, clinging, and being held and kissed as though he were absolutely wanted, absolutely needed. 

Crawford didn't get mad at him for saying it.   
  
  
  


It was morning, and it was awkward. Schuldich woke up feeling a little sore, all over, and not quite certain how that happened. When he remembered, he just wanted to fall back asleep again. He was wary of consciousness. So he just lay there, pretending to be asleep, rather hoping that Crawford would get up and leave, as though Crawford were another one of his one-night stands. 

"I know you're awake." Crawford's voice was even, and calm, and gorgeous. 

"Can't a person fake sleep in peace?" He drawled sarcastically. 

They both got quiet again. And Schuldich just lay there and remembered last night. He let out a heavy sigh, and was forced to admit to himself that he actually felt better this morning than he had in a very long time. The night before had been cathartic, except that now he wasn't sure what to do. 

He wanted more of it. More of Crawford's emotions, more of that jealousy and possessiveness. He wanted to feel Crawford actively _wanting_ him. He wanted to feel that touch against his skin, that fooled him into thinking there was something of passion behind it. He didn't quite care anymore if it was a lie or not, all he could think of how wonderful it had felt. 

"Schuldich…. " Crawford let it die out. "What would you like for breakfast?" And Crawford started to sit up in bed, move towards the phone to order food for their room. 

He was stopped by a hand on his arm, Schuldich pressed close, gave him an old smile, and they kissed each other once. "This has been fun." Schuldich said just a few inches away from Crawford. "Haven't done this in a while." He couldn't quite get all his mirth to come through, he couldn't quite enforce the devil-may-care attitude that Crawford found so attractive. 

"We haven't." Crawford agreed, started to pull Schuldich off of him. "You aren't hungry?" 

"I like this." 

"So do I." 

They looked at each other, awkwardly, and Crawford turned and ordered them both breakfast and then lounged back in the messed up bed. 

"Didn't hurt you, did I?" Crawford asked, not making eye contact. 

"Little." Schuldich said, "but… I liked it." And he smiled again. 

Crawford had a sudden, slice of the future. Just enough to know, just enough to be prepared, just enough to steel himself for it, just enough to avoid it. And he sighed, and he could feel it, and he could choose one path or the other. And he opened his eyes, and looked at Schuldich. 

Schuldich looked less than himself, looked tired, bruised. 

Choices like this should be easy. Take it or leave it. Simple. Life would be easier without it, more managable, more predicatable. But he studied it for a moment, with a sort of removed interest, before he leaned towards Schuldich, and drew him so they were touching. He turned his head, so that his forehead was resting against Schuldich's temple. He sighed, and Schuldich shivered as Crawford's breath stirred the hair by his ear. 

Crawford tightened his arm around Schuldich. Looking at this with scholarly interest, looking at this logically, looking at this through examination… it was still ridiculous. He couldn't get the words right, in his head, no matter how hard he tried. Mentally, he changed the word order, rearranged the emphasis. He thought of a few witty things that simply sounded idiotic, he thought of a few romantic things that really just felt out of place, he thought of it all, until at last he gave in to his nature, and followed the direct route. "Schuldich, I can't say I love you." 

Schuldich closed his eyes, smiled. "It's alright." 

"But I think I _could _love you." 

Schuldich's world froze just a little bit, and for a moment he couldn't breathe, couldn't concentrate, couldn't move. 

Lies. 

How dare he lie like that. 

How dare he. 

"Don't lie to me." He pushed Crawford away. "Don't you dare lie to me, god damnit. It's bad enough that I have to deal with you every god damn day treating me like -" 

"Schuldich, I'm not lying to you." 

"Bullshit!" and he pushed Crawford away. "You're lying to me to control me." And he turned and started to get out of bed. "You lying bastard. You're just lying to me to control me." 

He could see Crawford's face pull away from being slightly vulnerable, move into an expression of almost amusement, of superior arrogance. "Schuldich, I don't need to lie to you to control you." 

Schuldich shifted his weight from one foot to another, felt uncertain, was completely unprepared. He bit his lip, looked up, turned his back to Crawford. "I can't believe you." Schuldich couldn't believe the situation at all. "Just like that, huh? Boom, you think you may love me. Just like that, you can do that?" 

Crawford smiled a slightly weary smile, "'Just like that'? Schuldich, we've been together for almost ten years now." 

Schuldich's eyebrows knit, and he looked away from him, around the room, the noise of the hotel getting louder. Crawford laid a hand at his cheek, leaned close, kissed him on the lips. He felt an arm wrap around his waist, pull him close. "Just stay with me, Schuldich." He felt lips at his shoulder. "And we'll see." 

He turned half way around, pressed close to Crawford, and sighed in resignation. He couldn't stop doubting. He couldn't believe what was going on. He couldn't believe that Crawford was capable of love. He couldn't believe that it could happen, just like that. 

But he held tight. 

And "maybe" was more than he thought he'd ever get. 

They went to bed.   
  
  
  
  
**Détente: Epilogue, "Monsters"**

Brad, you've asked me sometimes, why I fell in love with you. You said I wasn't playing fair, you said I knew why you loved me. You told me everything, already. You value me, I'm a good worker, I'm fun, I'm good in bed, without me you aren't less, but with me you are more. I know that, Brad. 

So, let me tell you then. 

You made me a monster. I'm not going to go to hell. I don't believe in it. Oh, sure, when I die, we'll see who's right, me or Farfarello. But til then, I'm a monster. I'm a myth. I'm a fairytale. 

This world is one great story, I think sometimes. It's made up of Heroes, and Villains. It's made up of all those little people who don't help the story along at all, the victims that the Hero saves and the Villain puts in peril. Without you, I turned into just a bit player. Just a killer, someone that can be ignored. 

On my own, I can't pull off the hero bit. I like money too much. I wouldn't save a baby from rolling down a hill. Fuck that. I'd sooner hit it with a truck. I don't even call them by male or female whatever…. I call them "it". 

That's how much I care for the common man. 

So I can't be a hero. 

And if I can't be a hero, I want to be a villain. I never want to be shoved into the background, Brad. I never want to be forgotten in the story. 

You made me a Fairytale Villain, a monster. And I know I'm going to be defeated eventually, but till then, I'm going to be perfect. 

All of Schwarz owes that to you. 

Oh, yeah. And you're fun, and you're good in bed, and you're gorgeous, and you're smart, and you're arrogant, and you're just fucking wonderful. You save me. 

But that's the easy stuff. 

And you know that. 

We're never going to have happily ever after, Brad. We'll go down in flames, we'll die with a mythic sword in our chest. We're going to symbolize good over evil. 

I like that. I like being a bad ass. I think it's cool. I like the power. I don't mind going down in a fit of tragic glory, as much as I'd prefer to win. I like that. 

And I love you. 

Feel better, Brad? 

You made me a monster, and I love you for it.

* * *

_contrary-perfection.net _


End file.
